My Protector
by EriksAngeDeLaMusique
Summary: Modern. Christine decided she couldn't love anyone after her father died. Erik couldn't believe in love itself. Yet both are drawn to the one thing they hadn't expected to have. What happens when they meet at Leroux Academy, a boarding high school for the performing arts? E/C pairing
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera the novel/movie/musical by Gaston Leroux/ Susan Kay/Andrew Lloyd Webber, nor do I own Erik. :( But he's still on my wish list ;)

A/N: As stated in the summary, this phanfic is a modern-day high school version of Phantom of the Opera. There will be no Raoul-bashing. This is my first fanfic so please don't be too harsh, though by all means, review to your heart's desire. I won't object. :P Criticism is welcome but there's no need to be mean, not that I'm assuming any wonderful Phantom fan is. I've only started grade 9, so i haven't learned much that will help me write a story, especially one where the characters are in a grade ahead of me (yes, both Erik and Christine in the same grade, it was the only way i could make things work) so helpful criticism will be appreciated. Now that my overly long author's note is done…Enjoy! :)

Chapter 1

"There," I murmur after adding a finishing touch. I step back to admire my handiwork. Simple blue covers drape neatly over the twin bed, and all my work is in its proper spot in my desk, as well as my clothing in my dresser. There's not much for decoration; a simple mirror on top of my dresser with a framed picture of my father and mother before I was born.

I gently caress the faded picture of my parents. So much has changed.

Carefully I place it back down and look around my side of the room with a small smile, shaking away my doubts. It's not much, but it's all I need. Understated and simple perhaps, yet I can't ask for more.

_Unlike my roommates taste for more…expensive décor._

My roommate, who has yet to make an appearance, has draped her side of the room in flamboyant pinks and yielding oranges. A feather boa lies atop her dresser, encircling a vast amount of perfumes, lotions, glosses, and powders. More than I have seen outside of makeup stores. It's overly done to the point of gaudiness. Somehow the girl has even fit a pink bejewelled full-length mirror between her dresser and her desk. Speaking of which, she seems to have no study materials to name of beside a few sheets of music.

My curiosity peaks. What kind of music does my eccentric roommate like? My own collection is mostly classical and rests in tall stacks beside my bed. Feeling sneaky but too curious to resist, I creep to my roommate's desk. Of the few CD's she has, I guess that most of her music was on her iPod, I could assume that my roommate enjoys modern pop music. One or two albums even have songs that I will, grudgingly, admit to like.

When I cast a glance to the sheet music for sopranos and I feel my mouth open with an audible pop and I can only stare wide-eyed. Written on the page are high notes that can surely compete with my own high register and series of crescendos and accents and dynamics are abundant. I feel my stomach flip and suddenly I don't feel quite so confident.

"What are you doing?"

I jump, pulling my hands from the music like it burned me, and I turn to face the girl who stands in the doorway of the room.

With one look I know the girl glaring at me with her hands on her hips is my roommate. Vibrant red curls frame a heavily made up face and flow down to her tan shoulders. Her golden skin and envious figure are accented by a pink sequined tank top and silver mini skirt that was so short it was almost indecent. Long legs are made even taller by her silver stilettos. The girl towers over me and I'm just below average height. Her fiery nails match her lips and her temper it seems, as she gave me a fully charged death look.

Is the girl gaudy and overdone? Extremely so. But she certainly calls attention with a high confidence. It's enough to make me shake in my old comfy sweats.

"I-I-I uh," I stuttered. I had been here since sixth grade, yet I don't know this girl. It's not like I know everyone, but it's a long time to be with the same people, and I've never seen her. She must be new.

"Do not touch my stuff," the girl warned me venomously. I could hear the slight Spanish accent in her voice. Somehow it makes her even more intimidating.

My roommate crosses to the desk and I practically jump out-of-the-way for her. By her careless air, I can tell she's used to people clearing out-of-the-way for her. She picks up her sheet music and shakes them so the edges all line up. Feeling uncomfortable in the silence, I stick my hand out nervously.

"I'm Christine. Christine Daaé."

"Carlottta Guidicelli," says the girl without a glance at my hand. Instead she chooses to blow across the music then brush it with her hand to be certain it is rid of my germs. I quickly drop my hand in embarrassment.

"That looks really hard. You must be good," I try again at being social. It was never one of my skills.

Carlotta laughs but it's not a joyous sound. "Of course," she says. "Did you think I was accepted on luck and childish dreams?" The look she gives me makes it clear on how she thinks I was accepted.

I feel my face flush in anger but I keep back a biting retort. Of course I don't think that's how people were accepted. But she's acting as though this were some prestigious performance learning center, when in fact, it is just a performing arts school. A fairly difficult one, with rooms to board and fancy architecture and a high calibre staff, but yet still a high school. The auditions weren't too hard, though I had still done my best.

The vocal training in the months leading up to my audition were increased tenfold, which is saying something since my training was already intense. My father and teacher had both been concerned that I was neglecting my studies, but all of my reports came back with high averages. My social life had also been of their concern, but I had always been a quiet child and had few friends. Giving up the few I spent limited time with in turn for music had been no hardship. In fact, though I sometimes felt embarrassed to admit it when I was younger, my father was my best friend and closest companion. If only I could go back and take away that childish embarrassment.

I feel tears come to my eyes and look back Carlotta's way only to see her freely changing into silk pajamas and showing off lacy lingerie, knowing that with her looks she has nothing to be embarrassed about.

I get up and walk to the window that splits our room in two evenly if the door hadn't been on my side.

Carlotta had hung a glittering pink curtain above the window, and I'm glad it doesn't obstruct the view. Outside it seems like we are in the middle of a field perhaps, or in the middle of nowhere, though I know the city is very close by. The trees give off a nice smell through the open window as a cool breeze blows in. I can almost imagine the pixies, faeries, and nymphs playing about in the dark as I used to pretend to see when I was young. I remember my father playing along before he had gotten sick and the little boy, Raoul was his name, who was my closest childhood friend before he moved away and I never saw him again. We'd pretend to search for faeries and I would always claim to see one, much to our excitement. We'd go door to door in the small little town by the sea, asking if the owners had any stories to share, like kids in costume asking for Halloween candy. No one ever turned us away.

My favourite story, as a child and now, is a story about a young girl called Little Lotte and her Angel of Music. The story spoke of a blue-eyed blonde haired young girl who wants for nothing but music. Her Angel of Music possesses the ability to produce the most beautiful heavenly music. He teaches Little Lotte all he knows, who becomes almost as great as her angel.

Raoul and I would ask to hear that one all the time. Then Raoul would tug on one of my blonde curls and call me Little Lotte, for I look just as she is described, and Raoul would take his violin lesson, because as he said, he couldn't have a girl completely out doing him, as that would just be embarrassing.

Finally I pull away from the window to see Carlotta, in surprisingly modest pajamas given the rest of her wardrobe, leaving our room to use the dorm bathrooms. I decide to use the spare time to change in privacy then head out to the washroom's myself.

Once in bed I find myself lying wide awake as Carlotta snores loudly in the bed next to mine. My thoughts lazily float from one topic to another. From wishing I had brought earplugs to wondering what I should wear tomorrow. They float to more anxious thoughts like how hard will my classes be this year? To sadder thought wishing I could have my parents back.

Suddenly it hits me in one big rush, as it does on many sleepless nights. My father is dead. There is no home with a loving family waiting for my safe arrival, no one who will love me through all my faults, no one for me to think of when I am scared or when I need that extra confidence when I perform. No one. Because he's dead.

0000000000

_Gustave Daaé and Sofia Daaé had been young when they were married, and completely in love. They traveled far and wide, performing duets as Gustave played the violin and Sofia sang. Their angelic music was not only heavenly to the ear, but to see them perform together was almost to fall in love yourself. From the way they looked into each other's eyes, to how their emotions flowed through the air in song, they could only be bested by few. For all their talent, the Daaé's only performed at shows and festivals, thus they earned little more than what they needed to easily get by. They didn't want fame and fortune. They were happy as they were. Years later, they still performed until an unexpected pregnancy led to less traveling and less exertion for Mrs. Daaé. _

_When their child, a daughter, was born, there were complications. After holding her daughter for mere minutes, enough to caress her child and name her Christine, Sofia Daaé passed away. _

_Raising a child on his own was not an easy task for Gustave, but he put all he had into it, and soon everyone except a few forgot about the performing Daaé's. With this came little means of income, yet they pulled through. Christine was not like most children, and the only entertainment she desired was from music._

_They lived respectfully well and when Christine was in sixth grade, her father heard about a performing arts school nearby, and urged Christine to audition, as well did her vocal teacher, whom they acquired by his close friendship with Gustave._

_While not expecting anything promising to come from her audition, Christine threw herself into rehearsing. As the audition grew closer, Gustave became sicker. He had begun fighting cancer for the past few years, and suddenly his health went rapidly downhill. Christine forsake her training to be with her father. He wanted her to keep practising as her audition was a month away._

_One morning, looking at her father, Christine knew that day would be the day. Gustave took her by the hands as the light of early dawn shone through the window, and told her he loved her and didn't want his death to keep her from living her life. He said that she should never stop her music, for her voice was a beautiful thing and would get her far. In his last breaths, he promised he would send his Little Lotte, his Christine, her angel of music when he was in heaven. Then he closed his blue eyes and with a small smile on his face, he passed away. _

_Christine continued to sing, as it was her father's wish, but her spirit was gone. Her technique and articulation was perfect, yet without her heart, it immensely dulled what was once a heavenly voice._

_At her audition, she couldn't help but remember her father and his wish for her to do her best. Though not the joyous sound it used to be, her pain and sorrow flowed through her voice, and for a few minutes in what had been a month, it sounded as extraordinary as it had been before. _

_She passed her audition with flying colours and was accepted right away. Christine could hardly feel excited as the death of her father was still so raw, and singing for him had been like tearing open a healing scar. _

0000000000_  
_

I cry into my pillow in the dorm room, feeling the unbearable ache for my father overwhelm me. I know that sometime during the night, my muffled sobs quiet and I finally fall into a restless sleep.

When I wake, I find myself clutching my blankets with traces of tears on my cheeks. I had another nightmare. I look at Carlotta's sleeping form and I feel relieved that I had not woken my roommate by screaming as I did sometimes in my sleep. I have a feeling that specific conversation, much like any conversation, would not go particularly well.

I glance at the clock on my desk, reading 9 am. Today is Monday, and also the last day of "activity week" as the teachers call it. It's where everyone can meet and hang out, especially different dorms and floors and roommates, since it would be quite awkward to not know your roommate. Or apparently so, according to the website.

Different rooms, floors, and dorms can compete in games and contests. There are all sorts of games as well. I won't be going for that, though. I'm going to get a sense of the school and the people there. I'm not planning or expecting to make friends. I really don't know how to behave around people. I'm shy, and others tend to find it weird.

I slowly get up and neatly pull the covers back up on my bed, from where they had fallen to the floor in a heap during the night. I dress in skinny jeans, faded converse, and a blue top Papa had once said brought out my eyes. As I dab on the tiniest bit of makeup in front of my mirror-a rare event for me, I find myself idly wondering if what Carlotta wears is even allowed by school policy.

I look back at the clock, seeing that only eight minutes have passed. I expect to be back around lunch, and I could rehearse a bit then. Hopefully Carlotta will be out by that point and not returning for a while. I cast a glance toward her bed. She continues to snore contentedly loudly. If she ever got up, I suppose.

With one last glance around the strange dorm room, I head to the first floor where the "family room" is, or rather a place to hang out. The way the dorms are set up is that there are eight, not connected to the main school. Each grade has their own with the first floor as a den, and the next two for rooms, and they aren't co-ed dorms. I know it sounds huge, the school and the property are, but the dorm houses aren't. There are many students who attend Leroux Academy, School for the Performing Arts, and many who live there, though a few live in the city and take a bus in. It is one of the best performing arts high schools to get into, and it is common to find students who come from places many hours away.

As I walk down the stairs from where my room is located on the second floor, the talking and giggling from other tenth graders becomes louder and more annoying with every step. I've never been a people person, and I definitely don't fit in with gossiping teenage girls. I may look the part, a tiny wide-eyed curly-headed blonde, but this is why you don't judge people by their appearance.

I slowly finish my descent into the room. No one notices. Already they're clustered together, though I have to admit most of them have known each other since they were in middle school. I recognize almost all, and I could probably join in on half the conversations without getting a look that clearly states what-do-I-think-I'm-doing, yet I don't. I don't want to. I never want to.

I've been here since sixth grade, yet I am close to one or two people, and I knew both were not in the room. It should feel pathetic and sad. Sometimes it does. Usually it doesn't. I haven't cared in a while and I'm not about to start. All I need is music.

I recognize the dorm advisor who bounds in from outside where the sun is shining brightly. I realize I am one of the last to arrive. The dorm advisor wears a name tag that says "Sorelli" but everyone already knows who she is. She was introduced last year, as she is now a senior. I'm not sure why she wants to watch over a bunch of tenth grade girls, but I guess from all the dance classes she takes she has the energy.

She disappears down one of the halls, and I can almost hear the dramatic pause in the once consistent chatter as someone appears in the room. Somehow it takes me one guess to figure out who it is. I turn around to see Carlotta finally making her way down the stairs in a dress almost shorter than the skirt she wore yesterday. I realize she must have met everyone and made an impression at the start of activity week, because 95% of the girls surround her talking animatedly. The leftover 5% shoot envious glances toward Carlotta as they talk.

_Could things get any worse? _

"Ohmygawd," squeals one girl named Belinda in a low cut tank. "I almost didn't think you were going to come!"

"Of course," says Carlotta nonchalant. "I had to show off my new dress." This causes a whole new round of squeals that tempt me to put my fingers in my ears and recite the alphabet or whatever aria comes to my head at the top of my lungs. I refrain.

"Where did you get it? It looks _so_ amazing on you," a brunette named Cynthia says.

"I know," Carlotta replies. "I got it in Paris, at a darling boutique. Daddy promised me after the mishap we had in Spain that I could buy anything I wanted.

"You're so lucky!" says Samantha, whipping out her cell phone.

"I know," she says again. They laugh and I roll my eyes.

"Who's your roommate?" asks Belinda. I pause and take a half step closer.

"Yeah, she's got to be cool."

Carlotta snorts. "I wish. I caught her pawing through my stuff when I first walked in the door last night."

I feel my mouth drop open.

"No way!" some of the girls cry.

"Yes," Carlotta nods sadly. "I was just going to greet her, but I walk in and she's going through the stuff on my desk. I asked her what she was doing and she couldn't even answer me properly. I'm pretty sure she stole something, because I can't find the diamond earrings daddy got me when I turned thirteen."

My stomach tipped and I felt like punching her. A girl like that could make me get in too much trouble to name, even though I've never done anything bad before.

"You're kidding me!"

"No!"

"How terrible!"

"Why don't you tell the principal?" asks Amber.

I feel nauseous.

"No, there's no point. I've just got to hold my head high and deal with it. Not sink to her level," says Carlotta solemnly.

"You're so nice," replies another girl gravely. I can't tell who it is. I'm too focused on whether to feel relief that I won't be kicked out this second, or nervous that surely everyone will know what I had supposedly done in a matter of an hour.

"Who is she?" prompts Cynthia.

"I forget, really plain-looking," says Carlotta. "Chris-Chrissy? She has a bit of a Russian accent. Looks Russian too."

"Christine?" asks Samantha, looking directly at me. I'm not sure if I should feel grateful for the surprised tone in her voice.

"Yes, that's it," says Carlotta glaring at me. "Christine Daaé."

I can't help but look at my feet as they all turn to look at me, every one. A few glared, some looked suspicious, but most seemed curious or confused, knowing me from class and not behind bars.

Their voices dropped as they whispered, and I didn't dare tell them their dramatic "whispers" carried across the room.

"Are you sure it was her?" asked Peggy, a dancer who was once my science partner.

"Si," answers Carlotta.

"Really? She always seems so nice. Quiet and reserved, but nice," inquires Sarah, another girl who was once my partner. She's a guitar player who performed an instrumental backing for the choir at Christmas when I had a solo.

"No, not to me," harrumphed Carlotta. They nodded and their discussion turned to other things. I breathed out in relief. So far my reputation, or lack of, is doing well for me.

"Sorry I'm a bit late girls," Sorelli says, rushing in. I've always like Sorelli, though I've barely ever talked to her. She's our lead dancer, yet she's not arrogant or conceited. She's very helpful to the younger dancers, or to anyone who has a question.

"We should head to the mess hall, and then you can go out for the activities. I trust all of you know them by now, and will show any new students the way?" Sorelli asks.

There are a chorus of yes's.

"Good," she replies. "Onward!" She gracefully walks out the front doors and we follow, me trailing behind Carlotta's new minions.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! :) It makes me glad you like it so far. One thing that is open to change is the characters age. I've written the next few chapters, and I realize now that they're actually pretty young, so I think I'll change their grade to 11 and they have one day left before actual school starts. So sorry about this, I hope it doesn't turn you away though it shouldn't affect what I've revealed of the story. Read and review :)

Disclaimer: I still do not own Phantom of the Opera...or Erik.

Chapter 2

"Really? That bad?" asks Meg.

"A nightmare," I reply. We watch Carlotta explain what her awful roommate had done for the fifth time.

"That sucks," Meg says unsympathetically.

I nod. "And how's your roommate? Oh right, _you _don't have one."

She laughs. "As a matter of fact, I do. And she is a terror."

"Your mother?" I smirk.

Meg shudders. "A terror," she repeats.

She laughs again and we both take a sip of our water. She had tried to convince me to get a pop, but I reminded her that performers need plenty of water to stay healthy. Plus, her mother would wring our necks before the sugary drink even touched our lips.

"All I know is that I won't be spending much time in my room this year," I say.

Meg looks towards the sky. "Hallelujah. Christine Daaé will, for once, not be locked in her room all year."

I fiddle with the bottle cap in my hand. "I have my reasons you know," I say quietly.

"I know," she says sincerely.

Biting my lip, I look out across the field. Most of the games have only middle school participants, with a few older students here and there. The rest of us sit outside in the sunshine, at picnic tables r on the grass, feeling the positivism and laughter in the atmosphere. It made me want to crawl to my room and hide, but I'd surely get blamed for stealing something else. Perhaps a misplaced hairpin.

"This year's going to be good," says Meg.

"Why?" I ask, breaking from my thoughts.

Her nose scrunches up in thought. "I'm not sure. I can just feel it."

"Someone's awfully positive this morning," I mutter.

"Yes, and _you're _being a drama queen. Stop moping Christine, try having fun for once! I know you think it's silly , but I'm certain we're going to have a great year. Why not start now?"

I blink. Meg was usually blunt with me.

"Let's go play a game!" She takes my hand and drags me off the bench, causing water to splash onto my jeans.

"Only the younger kids play games," I point out, knowing that when Meg sets her mind on something there's no changing it.

"So?" she continues to pull me towards a balloon toss. "We weren't doing anything. Besides, we're competing _against_ the younger kids. I can already smell victory!" She inhales and exhales dramatically.

Meg takes a small purple balloon filled with water from a cooler, and we join the two lines of students, facing each other standing two meters apart.

"See? This will be a piece of cake!" she exclaims.

I nod, keeping my eyes on the balloon, as if it will suddenly jump at me. I do not want to get wet.

The guitar teacher for the advanced class walks over. "Are you guys ready?" he asks.

Most quietly nod, and some shout out or squeal. Meg is one of them.

"Alright, let's begin!" he blows his whistle and Meg's side makes the first throw.

"Here it goes," she calls out. Lightly she tosses it and, to my astonishment, I catch it. I feel proud until I remember we're standing only a few feet apart. It isn't the greatest accomplishment.

The whistle is blown again. We all take a step back and I hold my breath as I swing my arm and the balloon goes flying. Though I am in advanced dance classes, not as intense as Meg is in dance, my hand-eye coordination is not my most valuable trait.

Somehow the balloon makes it into Meg's outstretched hands.

"Good job," she calls.

I give her a small smile and wait for the toss.

The game continues and every few minutes when I hear a splash then a shriek, I jump. Some people who are not in the game have started to watch, especially now when we're standing plenty of meters apart.

I toss to Meg quickly, afraid the balloon might break in my hand and because I don't like people watching me. She grins as it lands softly in her hands. The whistle blows. We take another step back.

There are now two other teams; one with two eighth graders and another with a grade 7 and 11, siblings that were probably roped in to playing with each other. They are pretty good. Meg is the sole reason we've made it this far.

I notice Meg's waving her arms. What is she doing? I squint and try to see what she is mouthing. Then I remember. And suddenly I am standing there, soaked.

Meg dashes over as I wring out my shirt, pulling broken balloon pieces off of me. I can hear our audience laugh as Meg pulls more balloon pieces out of my dripping hair.

"Why weren't you paying attention?" she asks.

"I must look like a drowned cat," I say, ignoring her question. I don't have a very good answer for it.

She bites her lip. "A really red drowned cat," she agrees.

I walk away from the balloon toss game, passing by a group of girls that giggle a bit when they see me.

"At least you'll dry quickly in the sun," Meg says.

"I guess."

We sit down at a picnic table and Meg hands me my water bottle. I turn it down. I've had more than enough water for today.

"Sorry," Meg says, fiddling with her own bottle.

I shake my head. "It's not your fault. I just wasn't paying attention."

"She's right. It was her own clumsiness," adds a voice with a familiar Spanish accent from behind us.

"Can we help you?" Meg asks venomously.

Carlotta ignores her and addresses me. "Is that a new look, Christine? It's an improvement."

I try not to give her the satisfaction of knowing she is embarrassing me, but my cheeks flush. She notices.

"See you around," she says with a smirk and struts away.

Still I sit there, with my clothes plastered against my skin and my hair in a messy bun on the top of my head to prevent it from soaking my shirt any further. Any makeup I was wearing must have ran down my face in little tracks. Point two for Carlotta.

"What happened to that great year you were talking about, Miss Psychic?" I ask Meg with a glare.

She looks sheepish. "The sun'll come out, tomorrow," she sings. "Bet your bottom dollar that to-"

I stop her. Meg was accepted because she is a brilliant dancer. not a vocalist. At least she is a decent chorus girl and not entirely off pitch. Not that I am one who can say who is a good singer.

"Christine?" a masculine voice asks. "Little Lotte...is that you?"

Spinning around I come face to face with a, very cute, guy. His hair is dirty blonde and wavy to his shoulders. I don't typically like guys with long hair but it seems to suit him. His stature seems fit and his jaw prominent. His eyes are very blue, very familiar...

"Raoul?" I ask standing up, barely believing my eyes.

"It is you Little Lotte!" he exclaims, pulling me into a bear hug before I can protest. I don't like contact. Plus, I am dripping wet. When he pulls away he is still grinning ear to ear. I wonder if he notices he is soaked now too.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

What am I doing here? What is _he_ doing here, I feel like asking. he is the one who dropped off the face of the earth and made no attempt to contact me years ago.

Instead all I say is, "I auditioned after Papa died. I was accepted."

His face falls at my harsh words and I feel bad. I had almost forgotten how much Raoul had cared about my Papa too, like a second father to him.

"He...he died?" Raoul asks softly. "I'm sorry Christine. That's awful."

"You loved him too," I say, just as soft. "He died from cancer five years ago. A month before my audition. But I'm alright now." That is a lie. I'm not alright. But what am I supposed to tell my long-lost childhood friend? That I've been depressed ever since, just trying to be okay?

"That's good, Little Lotte," Raoul says. "He wouldn't want you worrying over the past."

I nod, my throat starting to feel thick and sore. "So what are you doing here?" I manage to ask.

"I got accepted," he says plainly.

"Really?" I ask sarcastically. "For what?"

"Well, actually my dad bought the school," he says shyly.

"Oh," I say. I remember when we were little and played at his summer home. It wasn't really a 'home' but a mansion. And his regular 'home' is five times bigger. "I remember your dad was into business. Why the school?"

"It's not so I could get in," he says immediately. "I promise."

I hold my arms up. "Alright, I'm not accusing you of anything."

"Sorry," he says. "But I know if people find out, that's what they'll think."

Instantly I think of Carlotta. "Yeah, there's not all good people here, but most are. And you know I wouldn't think that of you."

"You're right," he says with a smile. "I'm here for acting."

"Acting?" I say, surprised. "Wow."

He shrugs. "Just something to keep me occupied before I take over part of the family business."

"Sounds good," I agree.

"Wait," Meg cuts in. I had almost forgotten she was here. "So, you're obviously rich, cute, an actor, and you know my best friend. Why haven't I heard of you before?" She puts her fists on her hips and turns to me.

"You have," I say. "The little boy I played with by the sea? He jumped into the sea to get my scarf when it blew in?"

"That's him?" meg asks. "Well, you didn't tell me what he was like now."

"Because he moved away when we were little and I hadn't heard from him since until now!" I exclaim exasperated.

Then we both look at Raoul. He had been turning redder and redder at Meg's bluntness until he sort of resembled a blonde-haired tomato.

"Well?" I say.

"What?" he asks.

"Why did you move away?"

"Dad's business," he shrugs. "We were dragged all over the place and it kept getting busier. That's another reason I'm here. With Philippe learning how to take care of the business it's crazy at home. I figured it would be best for both them and me if I got out of the way."

I remember his older brother Philippe. He had seemed nice, if not sometimes stern. "Alright," I say. "I guess I won't beat you up."

"What?" he asks.

Meg giggles. "Look at you Christine, more happy than you usually are. I guess if this is what happens when you're with him I can't steal him form you."

"Meg!" I say, blushing.

"C'mon kids," she says, ignoring me. "Let's get out of the sun. I'm sweating, and Christine's almost dry now anyways." We follow her to sit beneath a tree, watching the activity around us.

"So how do you like it here so far?" I ask Raoul.

"I've only been here a little while but it seems to be getting better and better," he admits in a way that makes me turn bright red.

"What classes do you have?" Meg asks, saving me from further embarrassment though I am certain it was not intentional. We compare schedules, and I find out I'm in a lot of Meg's classes, as usual, and a few of Raoul's as well.

Two girls, probably in grade nine, walk up to us, each holding a stack of papers.

"Here," says one, holding out a newsletter.

Meg takes it and the girls throw a curious glance my way before leaving. Raoul takes note of this.

"Why were they looking at you like that?"

Not feeling up to it, Meg tells him the story, only in a much theatrical way than I had, as I read the newsletter. It's large headline across the top states there is going to be a party tonight, not too late of course, to celebrate the last day of summer vacation. Food would be supplied, and there would be music, games, dancing, contests, and many other "fun" things. It is free to anyone who attends Leroux Academy for the Creative and Performing Arts.

"Really?" Raoul asks me as I set down the flyer. "That's who you get to room with?"

"Yup, right over there," I point out Carlotta, sitting on a picnic table surrounded by girls in matching miniskirts as she flirts with a few muscular looking guys.

"That's a piece of work," he mutters.

"It should be a fun year."

"Are we going?" asks meg.

"Going where?" Raoul looks confused.

"To the party," she says as though it were obvious, holding up the flyer. I can sense on of her signature "duh"s bubbling up behind her glossed lips.

Raoul takes the paper and scans it quickly. "I don't see why not. Do you want to go, Christine?"

"I-" Meg looks at me as if she will chuck her water bottle at my head if I say no. "I, um-sure."

"Great!" exclaims Meg, clasping her manicured hands together in child-like glee. "It starts at 7. We'll have to get ready together-oh, who am I kidding? _I'll_ get you ready! This is going to be so much fun!" She leaps to her feet like she's ready to race off now.

"Meg," I say, pulling on her arm. "We still have a few hours. Relax." She slowly sits down, making me feel relieved. If only I could put off the inevitable makeover entirely.

"Fine," she huffs. "But it's going to take a while to make you presentable."

"Hey," I say, feeling offended.

"Oops," she says, blushing pink. "I didn't mean because you're ugly Chris, `cause you're not. You're just so damn stubborn."

Raoul bursts out laughing.

"Hey," I repeat indignantly. "I'm not stubborn."

"Hun," Meg says mock condescendingly. "We both know you. You can't get away with this one." Meg and Raoul smirk at each other.

"Oh I see how it is," I say. "You two meet and suddenly you're conspiring against me." I cross my arms and look at them accusingly.

"Would we really do that Little Lotte?" asks Raoul with a smile.

"Probably," I mumble.

"Knock it off, Christine. You know you love us," says Meg.

"Sure, sure," I say. "Most of the time."

She grins. "I can't wait for tonight."

My smile turns into a grimace. "Yeah, neither can I."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Are you done now, Meg?" I ask irritably. In the past two hours she's stuffed me into at least ten different outfits, deciding on the first one I had put on, swiped layers of makeup over my face, and I currently doing something to the mess of curls on my head that passes for hair. I think of reminding her that this is a casual party we're going to, not a ball.

"Almost," she says patiently, and I feel another light tug on my head. "Gosh, i love your hair. It's so long and curly."

True, my hair reaches my lower back in golden frizzy curls, but still..."It's too thick and always gets knotted and never does what i want it to."

"Jeez grumpy, i forgot what you were like for a few hours. I may have to permanently sew Raoul to your side."

I sigh. Part of the reason I'm irritable is because of Raoul. I think he may like me more than I thought and it's making me nervous. It's not exactly that a guy has never liked me, but I have never liked someone in return, past thinking they were handsome. Raoul is handsome, and smart, and kind, and one of my closest friends. Around him I remember what life was like before Papa died. It feels like I can pretend he's still alive and live life as it used to be.

'Aren't you excited Christine?" asks Meg happily. "It'll be so fun, and Raoul will be there. He's so handsome and I think he likes you!"

"I would hope so Meg, we were best friends when we were children," I say.

"No silly! Likes you more than a friend!"

"Oh."

The constant pulling at my hair stops for once. "Don't you like him back?"

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "We were like childhood sweethearts and I think I feel at home when I'm around him-"

"See!" she exclaims. "You do like him!"

"Well, hold on Meg-"

"It's so cute! Like a little fairy tale."

"Meg, im not completely sure," I say. Something doesn't feel right about it. I just don't know why.

"You will," she says. "You just have to wait until you're close like you used to be."

"Yes, alright," that's probably it. It's been years since we last spoke or saw each other. We just need time.

"Good," says Meg. "Now look." She spins me so I am facing a large mirror on her wall. My breath catches in my throat.

I may only be ready for a party, but Meg has made me look more beautiful than I ever have before. Instead of going for the typical party look that I despise and is only a little more understated than what Carlotta wears, she made me look mature yet innocent.

The dress Meg has chosen is my favourite, thank God. It is white, with a heart shaped neckline, fitted waist, and a skirt that ends an inch above my knees. My favourite part is the sleeves that reach my elbows and hang down like the bottom of a bell.

My hair, which I had been complaining about moments before, is no longer a frizzy knotted mess. Now it hangs to my back in large blonde curls. Paired with white flats and minimal makeup, I know I will stand out, but I don't care.

"Thank you Meg!" I hug her, smiling widely. "You can come with me to a ball anytime."

"What?" she asks, pulling away carefully to not mess up my hair. "Alright. Give me a couple minutes."

She walks away to change and I frown. "How do I end up with an hour and you only get a few minutes?"

"Because I'm an expert," she answers. "Besides, didn't you say you love it?"

"You're right, thanks," I say. "I'm going to wait in the living room."

"Okay. I'll be out in a sec."

I walk down the short hallway into the small but cozy living room. The dorm room resembles a small apartment because she lives with her mother, the advanced class ballet instructor for grades 9, 10, 11, 12, in the teachers' dorm.

Carefully I sit down, trying not to ruin Meg's hard work. I look down the hallway and envy Meg, getting to have a room to herself. She has to live with Madame Giry though, and that is no small feat.

One of the first things I learned about Meg when we met in grade 6, besides her bluntness, is about her family. She's originally from France where her mother was born, but her father wanted to move back to where he had grown up. This was a few years after Madame Giry had quit the National Ballet to raise Meg, and she agreed. Soon after moving Mr. Giry was in a car accident. He died on impact.

I had asked Meg why she would tell me something like that, when we barely knew each other. She said because best friends tell each other things like that, and she thought I was nice and would make a good friend. Plus, I was raised in Sweden and she was raised in France and we could both speak our native language. With that logic, she thought we matched.

I agreed, only because she was unlike anybody I had met before. She's different, and so am I, and it was that logic which made us best friends.

"I'm ready," Meg calls, and I hear the tap of flats down the hall. I stand up and turn, once again surprised at what Meg can do with clothes and makeup in so little time.

Her look is more daring than mine, and Meg is a daring person. Her makeup is darker, smudged around her eyes. Her dress is a fun bright pink with a higher hem and no straps. She's wearing small black flats with bows on her dancers feet.

"You look great," I say honestly.

"Thanks," she grins, swiping at a lock of dark brown hair that falls in her face. The rest is up in a purposefully messy bun on the top of her head, pinned with a silver butterfly clip. "Let's go before Maman sees me," she says with a laugh. Meg's outfit isn't scanty in the least, but Madame Giry would see it as such.

Quickly we left to wait for Raoul outside like we told him we would. The evening is still light out at 7, and the air is warm, making me glad I hadn't brought a sweater or wrap like I was going to.

In mere seconds I see Raoul crossing to us with a smile on his face. My stomach dances. What do I do? Does he even like me more than a friend? Do I like him that way?

Meg elbows me in the side. "Hi Raoul. You look nice," I say, feeling stupid. It's true. He is only wearing jeans and a simple dress shirt, but he still manages to make it look amazing.

"Thanks," he grins. "You look beautiful Christine."

"Thank you," I say shyly, feeling my cheeks redden.

"I know. I did a great job," chirps Meg. "And thanks, I think I look amazing too."

Shaking my head I look on, amused at how blunt and comfortable Meg is with people she barely knows.

Raoul laughs. "Miss Meg you look glorious. Does that suit you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know I am. But I also know you only have eyes for Christine, scarf boy."

"Meg!" I exclaim.

"You know about that?" asks Raoul, not looking concerned in the least.

"Yes, Christine made you out to be quite the dashing hero," says Meg, giving me a wink.

I put my hand to my forehead, trying to cover my red face, and taking back my early statement of ever taking Meg anywhere.

"Aw, don't be embarrassed, Chrissy," says Meg, pulling down my arm. "Now let's go. The party can't start without us."

"It did, five minutes ago," I point out.

"It never starts on time," she says, as if this is a well-known fact.

"Are we to be fashionably late, Miss Meg?" asks Raoul amusedly.

"That's Miss Giry to you Mister," she wags her finger at him. "And yes we are. Let's go."

0000000000000000

On occasion, I am dragged to parties and dances, not of my own free will, but by Meg. They were never torturous, I had even danced with a boy or two, and sometimes I could admit at having the tiniest bit of fun, I would still not go because I want to.

It's a typical party/dance. There are a few tables to sit and eat, and most of the courtyard has been transformed into a dance area, with flashing lights and a DJ off to the side.

Meg and Raoul receive many jealous and appreciative looks. I may have even gotten one too. It seems like everyone has shown up, and that is a lot of students.

Three girls with Carlotta-esque looks walk up, compliment how Meg and I look, more honestly with Meg but I take what I can get. Immediately after they begin to flirt with a bewildered Raoul.

I look over concerned. Poor Raoul. Smothered by Carlotta minions is not a great way to die.

"Don't worry," Meg leans over. "He's not interested in them."

I nod, feeling uncomfortable. I'm not feeling worried about him being interested in them. Was it because I knew he'd never like them? Or something else?

"I'll see you around…I guess," says Raoul as the girls sashay away.

"Making friends?" I tease.

He blushes. "I think you mean mosquitoes. Pesky, annoying mosquitoes."

"First day and you're already being suffocated by your popularity."

Raoul laughs.

"Is someone jealous?" Meg pokes me in the ribs.

"Ow. No," I say, rubbing my side.

She gives me a bewildered look. "But I thought-"

"Meg? Later."

"Okay," she says. "Hey! Let's go dance!"

"I don't dance," I say instantly.

"The ballerina doesn't dance?" asks Raoul.

"She's the ballerina," I say. "And no. Absolutely not."

Meg grabs my hand and pulls me among the dancing students. "C'mon Raoul," she shouts above the sound of the throbbing music. "We talked about this earlier. She's stubborn. Just don't give her a choice."

We start to dance. I'm not a great dancer, I can only follow routines, yet I love the feeling of my curls bouncing off my back, and the cool feeling of my skirt swishing across my legs like silk. Minutes later I'm actually smiling and bounce along with the beat.

The song ends and a slow ballad directly begins to play. People begin to pair off. Meg gives me a wink and smile.

"I think I saw a cute blonde over there. Have fun."

Raoul turns to me. "Do you want to dance?"

"Sure," I say awkwardly.

I put my arms around his neck and his slips around my waist. We sway to the music.

"So Little Lotte, what are you here for?" I can probably guess," he teases.

"Singing," I shrug.

"Of course," he smiles.

"I'm in the Triple Threat Program," I add. "Acting, singing, and dancing."

"I heard that's hard to get into,' he says. "You have to audition for all three, right?"

I nod. "Singing is my best. My acting is pretty good, and I barely passed on my dancing."

"I'm sure you did great."

I shrug, not knowing what to say. That was the end of our conversation. When a bubbly pop song replaces the ballad, Raoul leaves to get a drink, offering to get me one which I declined.

Meg suddenly appears beside me. "So what do you think?"

"Gah!" I jump, placing a hand over my heart. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you love him?" She clasps her hands together beside her head and widens her eyes like a cartoon character.

"Of course not."

"You know what I mean."

"I do," I sigh. "I'm still not sure. I feel comfortable around him. It feels like everything bad that has happened doesn't really exist and I'm kind of floating."

"That's good, right?" she asks.

"I guess."

"That's not very confident."

"Give me time, remember?" I say.

She nods. "Okay, I just want you to be happy."

The music fades out and the DJ's voice comes over the speakers. "Now we're going to take a break to rest your feet with a game. How does everyone feel about some karaoke?"

The crowd cheers and the DJ signals for them to quiet down. "Who wants to go first?"

"Meg, no," I say as she makes the smallest move forward.

"But Chris-"

"No."

"Fine," she huffs. We sit at an empty table off at the side. Raoul pulls up a chair, setting down a glass of punch for himself and a napkin with a few chocolate covered strawberries on it.

He pushes them toward me and when I look at them curiously he says, "Those were your favourite snacks as a kid."

They still are. "Thanks," I say with a small smile, biting into one.

"What about me?" Meg pretends to pout.

Raoul shrugs, still smiling. "Sorry. You weren't there."

"That's fine," she says, getting up. "I need to show off my outfit somehow."

As Meg leaves the flashing lights turn to one spotlight on the makeshift stage. Carlotta walks up the steps to the microphone.

"Do I get a prize for this?" she asks.

"No, it's just for fun," explains the DJ.

She frowns but decides to continue anyway. She mouths something to the DJ and a song comes on.

The intro starts with a catchy beat and the singer comes in.

_This was never the way I planned_

_ Not my intention_

_ I got so brave drink in hand_

_ Lost my discretion_

I'm surprised to find I know this song. And though it's nothing compared to her sheet music I saw, I'm really impressed.

_I kissed a girl and I liked it_

_ The taste of her cherry chap stick_

_ I kissed a girl just to try it_

_ Hope my boyfriend don't mind it_

"She's really good," I say, turning to Raoul.

"But there's something missing," he says. "I'm not a musician, but it feels like there is."

_No I don't even know your name_

_ It doesn't matter_

_ You're my experimental game_

_ Just human nature_

I nod, understanding what he's saying. She's great. On pitch and beat with ease. Yet there was no heart. Of course, it wasn't a soulful song, but she was still just strutting across the stage with no feeling. Pushing her presence on you so you didn't realize there was no depth to her performance.

"You're right," I say. "Now that I realize that, it's not so good anymore."

He smiles. "Guess I haven't lost my ear for music."

I shake my head.

_I kissed a girl and I liked it_

_ I liked it_

Meg sits back down with a plate of snacks for all of us, she says, as Carlotta finishes. The crowd cheers loudly with a few whistles that she smirks at.

The DJ asks for someone else. I'm about to warn Meg not to think about it. She's already flying to the stage, knocking people out of her way. I put my head in my hands.

"Hey guys," she calls to the crowd. She's answered with a few cheers and whistles. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I won't be singing."

_Please don't do it Meg._

"Instead, my friend is going to come up. She'll have to leave her arias behind but she can deal with it. I would like to present my best friend, the girl with the looks and voice of an angel, Christine Daaé!"

People turn and cheer as Meg gestures to me. The spotlight stays trained on me as I make my way to the stage. My eyes only leave the ground to glare at Meg as she hands me the microphone. She flashes me a grin and two thumbs up that some people laugh at before climbing down.

I look out into the crowd. The lights are too bright. Too hot. Carlotta stands with her look-alikes right in front of the stage, scowling at me.

The room is silent and I open my mouth to speak, and no sound comes out. Sweat beads on my brow and upper lip. What am I doing up here?

"Hey? Miss Angel?" asks the DJ, earning more laughter. "What song?"

"Oh right," I mumble, and a few more students laugh to my embarrassment.

I quietly give him a song, and as the first bars play, I turn to the audience and imagine them away. I'm singing in a meadow by a creek. I imagine my Papa, sitting and listening to me as he did when I was a child. I am ready.

_It's probably what's best for you_

_ I only want the best for you_

_ And if I'm not the best than you're stuck_

I continue to sing. Meg is right. It's not like my operas or arias. It's very different. Not just technique. The feeling is different. Especially since I've never performed in front of such a large audience and not at all since Papa's death besides my audition.

_And I just ran out of Band-Aids_

_ I don't even know where to start_

_ Cause you can bandage the damage_

_ You never really can fix a heart_

I find myself enjoying singing on stage. I don't notice anyone's presence. Just feel the emotions and memories flow through me.

_You must be a miracle worker_

_ Swearing up and down you can fix what's been broken, yeah_

_ Please don't get my hopes up, no, no_

_ Baby, tell me how could you be so cruel?_

_ It's like you're pouring salt in my cuts_

Technically for a mark I'm required to sing in front of my class. But I always hold back. For my big exam I don't do the performance. I scrape together a few teachers that I like, Madame Giry and Meg. This is new. But I kind of like it.

_You never really can fix a heart_

The song ends and everyone cheers. Loudly. The DJ asks everyone to give it up for "The Angel". It seems Meg has given me a new nickname. I place the microphone clumsily back into its stand and float in a daze towards my table at the back where Meg and Raoul sit. People congratulate me on the way and give me high fives. I thank them, hardly noticing what's going on.

"That was amazing," says Raoul.

"Thanks," I say blushing.

"You're welcome," sings Meg.

I fix her with a look. "I'm torn between killing you and hugging you. If you ever do that again, I will kill you."

"I know," she says, giving me a hug.

I hear someone walk on stage and take the microphone.

"I typically do not sing pop music…ever," begins a guy. He doesn't sound like a typical guy. His voice is…beautiful. Like music itself. I freeze in place and close my eyes, just to hear him speak.

"But I will endure it for one song," the angel's voice says. "I now dedicate my performance to who has been appropriately called 'The Angel'."

I whip around so fast I almost fall out of my chair. The voice is addressing _me_.

Under the white spotlight is a man dressed all in black who can't be much older than I am. He is wearing all black, including the black fedora tipped so low that it casts a shadow over his face. I can only see his eyes peering out from the darkness, as if they glowed. They were looking straight at me, intense and unfaltering. I feel trapped under their glow, but not uncomfortable.

The moment he begins to sing any anxiety I feel melts away.

_My life is brilliant_

_ My love is pure_

_ I saw an angel_

_ Of that I'm sure_

It's like a chorus of angels singing in my ear. My eyes stay locked on him. I can't break the gaze. I should probably feel worried. I don't.

_You're beautiful_

_ You're beautiful_

_ You're beautiful, it's true_

_ I saw your face_

_ In a crowded place_

_ And I don't know what to do_

_ Cause I'll never be with you_

He takes a step forward and I see he is very thin. I have a feeling he is stronger than he seems, this man whose emotions fill every syllable, each note.

_But it's time to face the truth_

_ I will never be with you_

All too soon it ends and I am wrenched from this angelic man. Cheers rise as he walks off stage but I know he is too different to be accepted. Like I am. All the more reason to find who he is.

I slip out of my chair, hardly hearing Meg calling after me. I hadn't seen where he had gone. He couldn't have gone far. Where would a man with a voice like that, a man who obviously didn't care for high school parties or modern music go? I would go outside, I decided and that's where I went.

What had earlier been warm was very chilly outside. I wrap my arms around my torso and continue my search. The outdoors away from the courtyard seemed to be bathed in darkness. How could it change so quickly? And where am I supposed to find a man of shadow in the dark?

I don't even have a name to call for. What am I doing out here? I can barely see what's directly in front of me.

"Hello?" I say softly. "Are you out here?" There's no answer. I walk around all nearby buildings, the entire time feeling as though I am being watched. But every time I call out I am met with silence. Eventually I am too cold and feeling more than a bit scared about being in the dark alone with someone watching me, and I start to turn back. As I begin to round the building closest to the noisy courtyard, I spin to face the darkness.

"That was beautiful," I whisper, not knowing exactly who I am talking to. "Thank you."

I shiver softly, not from the cold. I return to the dance where Raoul and Meg had been looking for me. After a while, the feeling that I was being watched faded, but I could still not return to what I had been thinking or feeling earlier that evening.

0000000000

I walk up the stairs to my dorm room, smiling slightly. People had begun to leave only a short time before we had. Since school began the next morning, Meg went back to her apartment alone. My room being further away, Raoul offered to walk me, which I was thankful for.

We reminisced about our time spent by the sea, the violin lessons given to Raoul by my father, playing in his beach house, listening to stories we asked for on a daily basis.

My feeling for Raoul are complicated. I've never liked a boy before and I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel.

I flick in the lights in my room after unlocking the door. Carlotta is still out and I suspect her to be out for a while still. I stand in front of my tiny mirror, pulling out hair pins and reminding myself to give Meg her stuff back tomorrow morning.

I turn around, facing the bed, and stop in my tracks.

On my pillow, lies the fullest darkest most beautiful red rose I have ever seen. Getting a closer look, the thorns look like they have been cut off by hand. A black velvet ribbon is tied in a bow around the stem with a small note attached. Carefully I open it.

In elegant scrawl it reads:

_Beautiful Christine,_

_The angels in heaven wept for you tonight. Your voice surpasses all which can be felt or heard, angel. It is what alone can break through the darkness._

I walk to the window, tears in my eyes, ignoring the alarm bell going off in the back of my head. Had the mysterious singer left it for me? Had he heard me calling for him? Why hadn't he answered?

Carefully, as if lifting fine china, I set the rose and note down on my dresser, in front of the picture of my parents, heading off to get ready for bed and get a glass of water for the delicate gift.

Later that night, the last thing I see before I fall asleep, is the figure of the man, and the rose.

_But it's time to face the truth_

_I will never be with you_

00000000000

A/N:Thank you all for the reviews! The songs I used in order are I Kissed a Girl by Katy Perry for Carlotta, Fix a Heart by Demi Lovato for Christine, and You're Beautiful by James Blunt for the mysterious singer ;)

_Carameltootsieroll: _Thank you so much! I'm so glad you like it! Yes, this is my first fanfic, though I've written other stories and tried writing a novel. Your review made my day :)

_PhantomFac01: _Lol, no she does not. Christine is not a party for the reviews :)

_Newbornphanatic: _You've probably come to the conclusion already, but in case you haven't I won't give it away. I promise Erik will make appearances soon. Thank you for reviewing :)

_Enb2004: _Thank you, I'm glad you like it. Thank you for your review :)

_Bealocwealm: _Thank you so much! That's exactly what I was going for :)

_Rose: _I'm happy you like it so far. Thank you for reviewing :)

_Broadway'Love66: _Thank you, I'm enjoying myself creating Carlotta's character. Thanks for reviewing :)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I wake up gently, as I do each morning. I'm not sure why. It's as if there's an alarm clock inside my head that gets me up every day. Not a loud blaring one, but the kind that wakes you with gentle sounds like music or ocean noises instead of a heart attack.

The sun is shining through our window, almost creating a wall of light between mine and Carlotta's sides of the room. Speaking of her, she must have gotten in much later than I had. Even when I had been falling asleep she hadn't gotten back. Now she lies in her bed, snoring, looking like the world's largest marching band wouldn't wake her up. For someone like her, she probably wants to get up early, to pick out the right outfit and do her hair and makeup and everything else she needs. If she doesn't get up in the next hour, I'm sure she'll skip her classes to apply mascara. I leave her be.

Quietly I open my dresser and pick out jeans and a yellow tank top. When I finish brushing my hair I finally take a moment to admire the rose on my dresser. I had almost believed it was an illusion when I woke up, a dream created by my lonely mind, but now I can clearly see it is no dream. I brush the petals lightly with my finger. They are like silk. I continue to simply look at it for a few moments. Then I move on to the card.

The elegant script would take me ages to complete, but must have been quick scrawl for the sender, worried that I would come back into my room. And how he had gotten into my room, I have decided it couldn't have been anyone except for the angelic singer, I prefer not to think about. It's the thought that counts, right?

Grabbing my backpack and lacing on my converse, I slip out of the room and lock the door behind me. I quickly walk down the stairs, passing a few girls talking in the hallway. They nod greetings to me and go back to their conversation. Outside it is only a bit cooler than yesterday, and I hope that in few weeks it will still be warm enough not to go everywhere in winter wear. It's always a pain, especially when we walk between many of the rooms.

Fifteen minutes later I'm letting myself into Meg and Madame Giry's apartment from a key under the mat. I can't remember how many times I've told them they should move it, it's the most common place to put it, but they never listen.

"I'll be there in a minute," calls Meg from her bedroom.

"I'll count," I say.

She laughs and I walk into the small kitchen to get us both breakfast of healthy multi-grain whole wheat cereal. It's the only one Madame Giry will let us have. I pour milk in the bowls and a glass of apple juice for both me and Meg. As I've told Madame Giry, we can't drink water all the time. Especially me, since Meg can drink milk, but as my main art course is vocal, I don't drink milk until at night because it thickens the mucus in the throat, making it harder to sing. Gross, but true.

Meg bounces out of her room as I am sitting down with our breakfast.

"Eating that all yourself?" she asks.

"Yes, no breakfast for you," I mumble.

Used to my grumbling and sarcasm, Meg sits down with a flourish, pulling her bowl towards her and digging straight in.

"Try breathing," I say.

"Breathing's for losers," she says with a mouth full of cereal.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, and I remember what I was going to tell her.

"I have your stuff from last night in my bag," I say. I had packed it neatly last night after spending half an hour taking pins out of my hair and wiping makeup off. It may have looked good, but taking it off reminded me why I don't wear makeup on a daily basis.

"Thanks," she says, finally sitting back to take a breather. Then she gulps down her apple juice. "You can keep the dress."

"Really?" I ask.

"Sure," she shrugs. "It doesn't really fit me anymore, if you know what I mean," she nudges me repeatedly until I push her away, my face growing hot. She starts laughing. "I'm joking. Well, not really, but you can have it. It looks better on you than me, and you don't have any dresses do you?"

"I do," I say indignantly. "I just don't wear them."

"Let me rephrase," says Meg. "Do you have any _nice_ dresses?"

"Not really," I admit. "Except for the one from my dad." We both go into an awkward silence, as we usually do when my dad is brought up. Really, it's my fault. It's been years but I still can't forget any of it, and Meg doesn't seem to know what to do about it.

We finish the rest of breakfast in silence.

"I think it's time for us to go," says Meg, after I put our dishes in the washer, an apology of sorts that she understands.

"Alright. Are we meeting Raoul there?"

"Of course, _Raoul_," Meg teases. "You want to know if we're meeting up with Raoul. You're kind of giving mixed messages, you know? First you like him, then you're just friends, then you're dancing all night and he walks you home, then you're not sure if you like him, and now you're asking about him…"

I tune Meg out as we walk towards the school, figuring I won't get out a direct answer for a while. I asked about Raoul because I had nothing else to say. And he's my friend. Can a girl not be friends with a guy without being told they should date and they like each other?

"Anyway," finishes Meg. "We didn't talk about it but he'll probably wait for you."

I nod. He was that type of kind person.

We wait around the front doors of the boys' gym for a few minutes, seeing if Raoul will show up. When he doesn't, we go inside.

Grade 10 and 11 students are milling around, looking at lists on the walls or sitting down and chatting, waiting for the teachers to arrive and tell us where to go. Meg and I go to the far wall, finding our names on two separate lists.

"What do you guys have?" asks Raoul, walking towards us.

"English," I say. It could be worse. English isn't such a bad way to start off the morning.

"Dance," sighs Meg. "I knew I would get it first. Mother would do that on purpose."

I comfortingly pat her on the arm.

"What about you, Raoul?" I ask.

"Science," he shrugs. "It's not too awful."

"Guess we should've already known we weren't starting off the day together. We checked our schedule's yesterday," says Meg.

"I guess," I say. "I wasn't really paying attention."

A group of teachers that I recognize walk in. I walk to where my homeroom class is posted and Meg waves dramatically as she goes to her own. Raoul smiles and I blush uncomfortably. I don't really listen to the teacher speak. Instead I look for anybody in the gym that is wearing black, a hat, anything that could be a hint that they are the singer from last night.

My search is useless. I can't see anyone like that, and he could be in a complete different grade for all I know, or wearing something different from last night. I have nothing that will tip me off unless I hear every single guy talk or see them write. That won't look strange at all.

I almost don't realize my class is leaving the gym until the last moment. I look around the gym one more time then follow them out.

0000000000

"Have you seen tall, dark, and mysterious yet?" Is the first thing Meg asks me when I meet her and Raoul at the mess hall for lunch.

"No, I wasn't really looking," I say.

"Liar," she smiles. "I would look too."

That doesn't completely comfort me, but I shrug. "Have you seen him?"

"Nope," she says. "I looked, asked other people. No one seems to know who I'm talking about."

"How could they forget?" I say as we sit down at a table with the lunches we bought. "I can't forget his voice."

"They remember his voice and him singing. Just not what he looks like. I guess he did too well of a job blending into the shadows."

"That's probably what he wanted," I say. He had to have been wearing all black and his fedora low over his face for a reason.

"And you don't find that creepy at all?" asks Raoul.

"No."

"Why would it be creepy?" asks Meg.

Raoul looks at her incredously. "One, he dedicated his song, a really intense song to a girl he's probably never met until then. Two, he dresses so you can barely see him and doesn't know what he looks like. Three, he disappears outside and lures Christine-"

"He didn't lure me," I say. "I went out to look for him. Is it strange I wanted to thank him for singing a nice song?"

"It was about how much he loved you!"

"Oh Raoul, songs always exaggerate everything," says Meg. "It's not like he actually meant it. He just wanted to sing a song to a pretty girl."

"And the clothes?"

"Maybe he's shy," she shrugs.

"I still think it's creepy," Raoul says.

"Well, you're not the one he sang to, so shut up," says Meg. "Christine can talk to whoever she likes. Besides, we can't find him anyway."

Raoul continues to fume silently as Meg explains the funny thing that happened in her class last period between bites of salad. I nod at the few points where she pauses and looks at me to make sure I'm listening.

It's certain now that I can't tell them about the rose or the note. Raoul would probably freak out and call the cops, and Meg wouldn't be too happy either, even if she is excited about the drama and mystery.

I look around the room once more before we leave. No one wearing black or a fedora stands out to me. I hadn't thought he would come in here anyway. There's too many people and…_normalcy_ for a guy like him.

"I should probably get to class," I say after an hour of sitting around outside. Meg had continued entertaining us with stories, and Raoul had softened a bit.

"You have vocal right?" asks Raoul.

"Yes, then acting with you and Meg."

"See you then," says Meg.

I pick up my bag and hurry to the music building. Of course, this is my favourite of all the building on campus. There are many rooms inside for learning different instruments, including voice. The atmosphere is always so relaxing, most likely coming from the beautiful music played inside.

The only people in the room as I sit down are a girl named Jenna who Clarissa who always is early to class and prefers to sing country music, and a boy with dark black hair sitting with his back to me, scrawling in a notebook. I don't know how anyone can write that fast and the words are still legible. I write at a snail's pace, and then it's still messy unless I try really hard to write neatly, which I typically don't.

I leave my binder at my desk and walk to the empty piano bench. There is only one piano in the vocal room for the teacher to play while doing warm ups with the class. I prefer to warm up on my own to start. I had gotten used to Jenna a while ago, but now I have a new viewer. Oh well, he probably isn't listening anyway.

Sitting down, I pull the bench closer to the piano and lightly rest my hands on the keys until I decide how I'm going to warm up. My teachers have told me that to keep your voice accurate and have good reflexes the warm up should be changed every once in a while. Finally I decide and start to play, my voice becoming stronger as I become more comfortable. They're only scales, but I still lose myself in the music and getting my voice to hit each note perfectly on key.

Someone clears their throat and I look to the door. Miss Meyer is closing the door and walks to her desk in the corner to collect whatever music we are going to use during class. Feeling embarrassed and knowing it shows, I turn around, keeping my head down so I can't look anyone in the eye, I go back to my seat. Something makes the hair on my neck stand up. I rub the back of it, wondering if someone had left the door open last night.

Miss Meyer walks to the front of the classroom and introduces herself. We all already know who she is. She talks about what we will do this year and what our goals should be. She explains what we will be doing this class. I try to pay attention. I can't. I fiddle with the zipper on my binder. Carlotta asks a question and Miss Meyer smiles brightly and answers. I hope Carlotta doesn't become her new favourite student, but I know she will.

"Christine?"

I glance up, startled. "Pardon?"

Miss Meyer smiles. "I was just saying that you had an excellent performance last night."

"Thank you," I manage to answer, feeling my cheeks redden.

"I've seen better," mutters Carlotta.

"How about you lead the class in some warm ups?" asks Miss Meyer, ignoring Carlotta. Or maybe she didn't hear her. I pretend it's the former.

"No," I say. "I don't think-"

"C'mon," she says.

"I'll do it," says Carlotta.

"Christine, are you sure?" says Miss Meyer.

"I-I-I guess I'll do it," I hear myself saying.

_What are you doing?_

"Excellent," Miss Meyer says and gestures for me to come up to the front. Numbly I make my way there, feeling much like I had at last night's performance. After what felt like years I face the piano.

"What scale?" I ask, pretending I can't feel the eyes on my back.

"Basic," she says. "The major scale, something else you want to do?"

I shake my head, basic is good. She nods for me to face the front and I turn around as she plays the first chord.

I open my mouth to sing along but nothing comes out.

The boy.

The one with black hair who was writing in his notebook.

He's wearing a mask.

We lock eyes and his are the most beautiful, bright, _glowing_ green I have ever seen. Except I have seen them before. The half of his face that isn't covered by the mask is expressionless, but his eyes seem to dare me to say something, to judge him.

I squeak.

"Is everything all right?"

I tear my eyes away from the boy's and face Miss Meyer.

"Are you alright, Christine?" she asks, peering at me concernedly. "You look quite pale."

"I can lead, Miss Meyer," says Carlotta.

"I'm fine," I say. "I'm fine." Control comes back to me but I still feel panicky. Deep breaths are what it takes to compose myself on the outside.

"If you're sure," she says.

She starts again and as I face the class I fight the urge to look at the boy a second time. I probably appear strange looking everywhere except where he is, but I can't look at him again. I'm sure I will stop breathing.

His cold eyes are so different from the intense passionate ones I couldn't break away from last night. I have a feeling his words won't be as soft as the ones he sang. It is an ironic thing: his voice is the most beautiful thing yet the words themselves are the coldest. I don't know how I know this about him. I don't know.

Finally the warm up ends. Miss Meyer thanks me and I walk back to my seat, once again staring at my feet.

"Today we have two new students," says Miss Meyer. "Why don't you two come up here?"

Carlotta struts to the front and the boy gets up slowly. Carlotta smiles widely at the class and the boy looks as though he could care less. He is emotionless. His mask is only visible on one side of his face, yet it seems to extend to the other side as well.

"I'm Carlotta Guidicelli and I'm so glad to be here!" says Carlotta in a sickly sweet voice. She waves before bouncing back to her seat. I see some of the boys' eyes follow her on her way back.

Everyone's eyes go to the boy as he steps forward. I feel a pang of sympathy for him. It must be awful to have everyone watching you as if you're a freak. I want to know why he wears a mask and I feel guilty for it. I don't think he is going to explain why.

"Erik Destler," he says with as much enthusiasm as a cement block. It stills comes out sounding like music. People continue to stare and Erik looks back with cold hateful eyes.

How is this…my angel of music? Erik?

"We are so glad to have you here," says Miss Meyers putting her hand on Erik's shoulder. It is an awkward gesture, not only because Erik does not seem like the kind to enjoy any physical contact. He is so much taller than her. The shadows last night had blocked out not only his features but his form as well. Lean and extremely tall, I know he would tower over me, yet he somehow makes it elegant. Gracefully he steps away from Miss Meyer and the hand on his shoulder. It doesn't faze her.

"Erik's application was one of our most phenomenal applications we have received!"

He nods and walks back to his seat, his eyes downward. I try not to watch.

All throughout class I can't focus. We don't do much, only more scales I have memorized, one or two that I haven't, and we talk about future performances and anything else anyone wants to know.

When the bell rings, I jump, knocking over the stand in front of me. It falls, and just misses Erik's head. I bend to pick up the stand and retrieve the papers, but face burning. I fumble the papers, scrunching them up, knowing I will regret it later. A stack of four papers appears in front of my face, held out by a graceful long-fingered hand.

I look up and my eyes connect with Erik's. They are not cold or hateful. They are not compassionate either. They are intense and studying. He is seeing if I will judge him like others. Why would I? If I put on a mask, I would look just as different as him. I'm already an outcast without it.

I smile slightly and take the papers from his hand. Thank you, I mouth. He does not smile or say a thing, but I think I see him relax the smallest bit. I get to my feet and he straightens the stand. I sit back down.

"Klutz," mutters Carlotta. I barely hear her. I am too busy looking on the papers Erik had given me. It is one of my songs that I like to warm up with. It is a fairly simple piece.

Neat notes have been added in red pen, adding dynamics or notes, creating a much more complex piece of the four page song. Across the top in red writing that is so neat it could be considered calligraphy is a small note telling me I should choose more difficult pieces and that such a simple song does nothing to help my voice or to enhance it.

I turn to ask him what this means, but he is gone. Most students are gathering their own papers and binders. I hadn't heard the bell ring.

Again I look down at the pages in my hand. Really, it suited my voice much better now, and it was challenging as well. I wasn't completely certain I could do all of it but I would sing as much as I could until it was perfect.

A/N: Sorry for being late with the update. My birthday was on Tuesday and of course I had to play the new music I had gotten a hundred times before deciding I should do some actual work

Trrmo77: Thanks I'm glad you are enjoying it. :)

Newbornphanatic: lol I always make references to Phantom and Erik and no one ever knows what I am talking about. Glad you liked it :)

Princess of Pirates: Don't worry-more Erik to come Thanks for reviewing! :)

StandUponPoints: Lol I do that all the time. I think there is nothing wrong with sharing your opinions of a story with the whole world-of course, everyone else seems to disagree :) Thank you for your review, I'm happy that you like it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"_Chris? Are you okay?"_

"What?" I say, sounding more annoyed than I mean to.

"Woah, nothing. What happened to you?" asks Meg.

I shrug. "Carlotta."

She gives me a sympathetic smile. "Who cares about Carlotta? She's a self-centered, vain, arrogant-"

"Meg," I stop her before she finishes. "It's alright. She's just being annoying, and I had to lead the class in warm ups."

"So?" asks Raoul. "You sang at the party."

"Because I obviously chose to," I say.

"You were still good. Really good," he says with a smile.

"Not really, I almost barfed," I say.

Meg says, "Well I did a pretty good makeup job. I couldn't tell you were green at all!"

"Thanks," I say drily. "I'm still getting used to it. I'm just feeling off, okay? I'll probably be fine tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" asks Raoul.

I assure him I am.

Meg still looks concerned but lets it go. For all of her carefree attitude, she is really in tune with my emotions and knows that I need to keep them calm to keep from getting upset and depressed. She does her best to help.

I rub my hand across the top of my vocal binder. I have my drama one with me as well. I'm more protective of my vocal music. The sheets with red swirly writing are in the pocket of the cover on the inside, beneath my hand. I don't know why, but I took extra care to make sure they were not creased or folded or rumpled in any way and put them in the place least likely for any of that to happen. My finger draws invisible notes and treble clefs on the top of the binder as I gaze into space.

"Are you going to try out this year?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure you're okay?" asks Raoul.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What were you saying?" I ask him.

"I was just asking if you were going to audition for a role in any of the musicals or plays this year?"

"Oh, I don't know," I answer. I probably will, but I hate getting my hopes up for it. I've never gotten a lead role, and though I enjoy being a part of it in any way possible, I still feel disappointed after all my work. I know Papa would be disappointed.

"You should," he says.

"Are you?"

"Maybe for a play," he says. "And not a lead role."

"You should," I repeat.

He smiles. "Only if you will."

"I don't think I can agree to that," I say truthfully.

"Please? We can both audition," says Raoul.

"I'll think about it," I sigh.

"Good." He grins. In that moment it is even more confusing as to why Raoul is spending time with me. He is one of those boys that can make anything look amazing. The kind that are plastered all through magazines and ads and on billboards. The kind that hang with the popular types. Not girls like me. Meg, maybe. Not me.

"You two. Silent," says the teacher standing at the front of the class. I blush and go silent. Raoul winks at me. I turn redder.

"Now, I want you all to get in partners. That means only two of you, people, and wait for further instructions," says Mrs. Gregory.

"I call Chris," exclaims Meg in one quick breath.

I shrug apologetically at Raoul and give him a smile as he gets up.

"Haha," Meg says, then sticks her tongue out at Raoul. "Yeah, that's right, walk away pretty boy."

I hold back a laugh at Meg's antics. Raoul goes away to find a partner and Meg and I stand up where we are.

"We better not be doing the mirror thing," whispers Meg.

"We always do the mirror thing," I say. As our past drama teachers have told us, everything needs a warm up and we need to start somewhere.

"Now, face you partner. One shall be doing different actions, _appropriate_ actions, while the other mimics. We will switch in a minute or so," says Mrs. Gregory.

"It's the mirror thing," Meg says with a small sigh.

"You can start," I say.

"Really? Thanks," says Meg. She starts off with simply putting her hand up moving her arms. Basic things that don't look too ridiculous. Of course, than she starts doing dance positions, that I mirror. As she speeds up I hurry to match her. Mrs. Gregory applauds us for our creativity, though I'm probably sweating and red-faced.

We switch, and not knowing as many dance moves as Meg, I re-enact some of my favourite scenes from musicals, operas, movies, or books. It looks completely ridiculous, but I know it's what Mrs. Gregory is looking for. Again she praises us for understanding the task so well.

"Good job, we are off to a great start," says Mrs. Gregory. Now, I want you to get into groups of 4, and when I hand out these small scripts each of you will pick a part. You will have the rest of class to rehearse. At the end, you will present. Hopefully we'll have enough time to have all of you present. If not, those who have not gone will present tomorrow."

Meg grabs me by the arm. Raoul walks over with his ever present smile.

"Okay, that's three," says Meg. "Now who do I not hate…?"

"Meg," scolds Raoul.

"What? Oh, I know! Hayden!"

"Who's Hayden?" asks Raoul. I shrug.

A boy with dark brown hair looks up and walks to us when Meg waves him forward.

"You'll be in our group, right?" Meg asks in a way that says he has no choice whether he wants to our not. She's used the same tone with me many times.

"Sure," he smiles. He turns to me and Raoul. "Hi, I'm Hayden." We in turn shake his hand and introduce ourselves. I wonder how Meg knows him. Then again, Meg knows a lot of people.

Mrs. Gregory hands us our script.

"Ugh, this looks boring," complains Meg, flipping through the pages. It wasn't a thick script, only a few pages long.

We choose parts easily enough and get down to work.

Eventually the bell rings to signal the end of class and the end of our school day. Handing our scripts to the teacher on the way out, Meg, Raoul, Hayden, and I walk out into the sun.

"Well I gotta go," says Meg.

"Where?" says Hayden.

"Dance," Meg says. "See you guys later."

"Hey, I'll walk you," offers Hayden. Meg smiles and they set off. I watch them talking and know I'll have to interrogate Meg when I see her.

"Is that who Meg was dancing with at the party?" I ask Raoul.

"I think so. I wasn't really watching her," he says with a smile.

"Do you have anything you need to do?" I ask, trying to put his attention of my blushing face.

"No, not yet. I'm still getting used to it here. Do you?"

"No," I say. "But I'm going to join choir probably."

"Good," he says. "You'll be great."

"Thanks," I mumble. "Maybe I should take my stuff to my room so I don't have to carry it around."

"I'll go with you. Or was that a ploy to get rid of me?" Raoul teases.

"Of course not." It wasn't a complete lie. I didn't want to get rid of him, I just wanted to get rid of the confused feeling I felt when I am around him.

"Shall we?"

We walk towards my dorm building. I ask him about his day and he impersonates his teachers, making me laugh like I hadn't in a long time. He asks about mine and I skip over the part about finding Erik. Raoul and Erik didn't seem like they would mix.

"Am I allowed in here?" Raoul asks as we get to the stairs inside the dorm.

"During specific hours and really you're not allowed in any of the rooms but we'll be out in like five minutes," I tell him.

"Okay," he smiles and we head up to my room.

His expression when I opened the door was priceless.

"That's not your side right?" he asks, looking at the part of the room where it looked like a neon flamingo threw up.

"Definitely not," I scoff, feeling slightly insulted he would think I had changed that much. "That's Carlotta's side."

"That makes much more sense."

I drop my bag on my bed and move to my closet to put my sweater away, since it seemed so warm suddenly.

"This is your mom and dad right?" asks Raoul. He is looking at the picture on my dresser. "He looks like I remember."

"That's not possible," I say, walking over to where he stands. "That was when my mom was alive."

"You look like her, Little Lotte," says Raoul."

"Thank." My throat feels thick.

"I wish I could have done something, when he…you know. I would have wanted to be there if I had known. He was a good man and I would be there for you and-"

"Stop," I whisper, my voice garbled. "He's gone, it's too late. You're the one who left, I would've told you. It was a long time ago."

Raoul reaches toward me, putting his arm around my shoulders. I let him for a few minutes, feeling comforted by the soothing pattern he rubbed on my shoulder. Then I move away to sit on my bed.

"Just give me a minute," I say, trying to even my breaths. I had been getting better at keeping myself from crying.

Raoul nods and looks at a few of the other figurines on my dresser. He smiles, picking up a necklace I had looked at that morning, one I had worn when I was little because Papa had given it to me and told me it was Mama's.

He picks up the rose gently.

"Who is this from?" he asks.

"No one," I say then realize my mistake. "Actually it's from Madame Giry."

"Oh." He sets it back down. Right now the card is hidden behind one of the figurines so he can't see it, but I can't leave it to chance.

I get up and walk to the dresser. "Yes, it was nice of her. But she doesn't like people thinking she's soft so I wasn't supposed to know it was from her. One of her ballet students let it slip." I shrug and pretend to fix the figurine, slipping the note into my palm and closing my hand so he couldn't see it.

"Alright, you ready to go?" asks Raoul.

I nod and slip the note into my pocket as we walk out the door.

0000000000

"What do you want to do?" asks Raoul after we dropped his stuff off at his room. The boys' dorm wasn't what I was expecting. I had thought it would be more…boyish. Messy and grubby with evidence of sports activities. Raoul's room was nothing like that. He had the luck to not end up having a roommate, and though I didn't go into his room more than a step from the hallway, I could see his room was nothing like I had thought it would be. I could see nothing out of place except a pair of sneakers by the door, his backpack he threw on the floor, and rumpled covers on his bed.

"It's nice out. Maybe we could go to the lake?"

"Sure," Raoul smiles.

When I first came to this school, I was impressed by the fact they actually had a lake outside. Not all of it was on the school's property, but that fact didn't seem to bother too many people who swam to the other side where it's narrower. It cuts through the back half of the property which is mostly fields and woods.

"How do you like your classes?" says Raoul.

I shrug. Then realizing it is the perfect way to start a conversation instead of walking around in silence, I say, "Most of them are pretty good. None of the teachers are bad but I don't usually get in trouble so I can't tell you which teacher to avoid. My favourite is obviously my vocal class."

"Obviously."

"How about you?"

He says, "Well I liked my acting class. I dunno, it's only been one day. She seemed nice enough, but you would probably know better cause you're in that class. Which is another reason why that's my favourite class." He smiles broadly.

I smile, unsure if he meant it in a way more personal than as a friend.

"So what do you guys do around here for fun?" asks Raoul, looking around.

"Meg usually has dance and I practise all my vocal stuff and catch up on work so we don't usually do anything. When we do have time I usually hang out at her and Madame Giry's place, or come out here to the lake. Once in a while there's a party or a trip to the city we're allowed to go on if we get permission from our parents."

"Guess we'll have to find something to do together. It will be an adventure."

I laugh. "I don't think people here will be as willing to talk to us if we knock on their doors asking for stories as they were back home."

Raoul laughs. "No, I guess not. Maybe we'll find a faerie or two, but I guess that was more your thing than, wasn't it?" he teases.

"I was playing along," I say, blushing. So what if I had said my short-sightedness caused me to see faeries? He had believed it.

"I'm joking Little Lotte-woah, now I see why you guys come here."

We reach the lake. It sparkles as the sun begins to set, like a glass mirror. It looks like magic, and the woods next to it, an enchanted wood.

We sit down on the banks, not taking our eyes off of it.

"It's so beautiful," I say.

"Definitely. It doesn't measure up to you," he says looking at me.

It's corny and a little dorky. But I still smile and let Raoul move closer to me as we watch the colours of the sky break across the water.

0000000000

After dinner with Meg and Raoul in the dining hall, I get my music and find an open practise room to rehearse. I have been dying to practise the music Erik had written on since that class, but I wasn't about to skip my last class or ditch Raoul.

The music he wrote elaborates the best parts of the original piece so much, I can hardly believe this boy in my class had written it. He has made my music come to life. If only I could sing it right. I sing it through to mess up on one part, than sing it again and mess up on something else. It is frustrating and invigorating at the same time. I love challenges, especially ones that involve music and my voice.

Late into the night I have been satisfied with the music, only to realize as I step outside that it is way past curfew, and close to being pitch black out. Does anyone know I'm not in my room where I'm supposed to be? Typically they check rooms to see if anyone's missing at curfew. I will get in so much trouble if they find out I am not there. I suspect Carlotta won't be lying for me any time soon.

I reach my room and Carlotta is already asleep and there is no sign anyone was looking for me. Quickly and quietly as possible I get ready for bed and crawl under the covers. Exhausted from all my practising, I quickly fall asleep.

A/N: Thank you everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I'm so happy other phantom phans like my story!

_Trrmo77: _Thanks! Yes, Erik is in the same year as Christine and the others :)

_PhantomFan01: _Thanks! :)

_newbornphanatic: _Lol thanks! :)

_partypenguina3: _Thank you so much! I'm happy you like the story and find the characters believable :)

_Netag Silverstar: _Thank you so much! I am glad you like it so far, and thank you for the advice! I will look into getting a beta :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I rip my hair brush through my hair while trying to tug on my jeans. The sunshine is shining through the open window so I don't understand how it didn't wake me up. In fact, no _one_ woke me up this morning. I'd have to thank Carlotta later. How did I not hear her get up?

Actually, I did know why. For once I had slept soundly, with beautiful music and roses and praising words in my head. Was that the second time this week? This school year wasn't getting off to as much of a bad start as I had thought. Though, if I am late to class, which I will be judging by the clock and the distance to the bathrooms to brush my teeth, it will be a bit of a disappointment.

Grabbing my backpack I dash down the hall, only to feel a sudden lightness. I turn around to see all my binders and papers lying on the floor. I moan and rush to pick them up, catching my finger on the corner of a binder. I throw it all in my backpack and make sure it's zipped up tightly before dashing down the hall again.

By the time I reach the classroom I am five minutes late. Mr. William is going to kill me. No, bury me alive. Skin me and eat my insides.

I shudder. My thoughts are becoming more morbid with each passing moment.

I slow down my hurried pace as I reach the classroom, hoping no one can tell that I rushed here. I run a hand over my hair and realize my hair will give no indication. It is always frizzy and windblown looking.

When I knock on the door I can hear Mr. William's voice stop. It takes a few heart-thudding seconds for him to open the door. He glares at me.

"Miss Daaé, you are almost ten minutes late," he says. Everyone is silent and staring at me. I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

"I know, I'm sorry, I was just-"

"Don't make excuses."

"Al-alright, I'm sorry-"

"Go sit down," he snaps.

I drop my head and walk as quickly as I can to my seat. I can't help but look up as I pass, at Eric sitting in the front row. It seems strange to see him again, as it does every time. He doesn't look right sitting in a mundane classroom with other kids and notes set out in front of him. He seems grander than that. Marble palaces and gold. I admit if he were to own a palace it would have to be decorated in black and white, as it seems those are his favourite colours. Today he was wearing another white dress shirt with black jeans, his half white mask, and a long black jacket. His black hair curls at the nape of his neck. It is the wardrobe I expect a vampire to wear; his skin is definitely pale enough to fit the picture. It looks nice on him though. He fiddles with a black pen reminiscent of an ink pen, and I notice that even though it is warm outside he is still wearing black leather gloves.

He whips around to face me, his eyes glowing, and I know he knows I was staring at him. I drop my gaze to my blank paper. When I look up again he is still frozen as he was. I realize his eyes aren't glowing in hatred. They are glowing in distrustful curiosity. Could he be as curious about me as I am about him? Impossible, what is interesting about me? A poor girl who lost her father and lives as more or less as a shell, and him, a mysterious musically gifted phenomenon who seems intent on confusing me.

Erik turns around and his face doesn't change in the slightest. Mr. William is continuing with his talk I notice, and I start to take notes. At some point after copying the first few sentences I find myself doodling eyes and roses and music notes while falling half asleep. That is until I am called on.

"Christine, are you awake?"

"Hmm-oh, yes sir," I say, blinking myself awake and sitting up straight in my chair, trying to look like an eager pupil when all I want to do is crawl into my bed and turn on my iPod.

"Then you will answer my question."

"Um, of course, can you repeat the question, sir?"

"I thought you could answer it?" he says smugly.

"I need to…process it thoroughly," I say, trying to make it sound as if it were obvious.

"Okay, how many points and how many paragraphs are in an extended essay?"

I remember learning this, the answer feel like it's on the tip of my tongue…but I am so tired, I feel like fog is wrapped around my brain.

"Um…"

"Well?" he asked.

"Typically five: first the introduction; second, third, and fourth are the body; and fifth is the conclusion. It is apt for there to be three points in each paragraph, the strongest points at the end, and the paragraphs follow in that order as well," someone whispers in my ear.

I whip my head around, looking for the person who whispered. But most people are doodling on their books, gazing off into space, and looking blankly at me.

"I thought you were in the academic class?" asks Mr. William.

"Will you not speak? I gave you the answer, use it. Don't let him belittle you, silly girl."

"Uhh…usually five," I say. "The introduction, the three bodies, and the conclusion. There are…um, three points in each? The strongest at the beginning-"

"The end."

"Sorry, the end," I corrected. "And the paragraphs go that way too."

Mr. William looks at me and I shift nervously.

"Fine, I suppose you are mostly correct."

I sigh in relief but someone else is not quite so happy.

"Mostly? I believe her answer was more detailed than you have been telling us yourself," says Erik, his deep voice sounding like music.

Why is he so upset? I am happy I didn't get ridiculed. It's crazy but I feel like Erik was the one telling me the answers. But he's all the way across the room!

"Excuse me? Did I ask you to speak? Do we have a class clown here among us?" asks Mr. William.

I stifle a snort. Erik is in no way a 'class clown'. Anyone can judge that from his appearance and demeanor, his eloquence when speaking, his careful mannerisms. The only trait they share is the arrogance I feel Erik has some of the time.

"No sir, I just feel it is unfair of you to criticize Miss Daaé for her answer when it is better than yours."

I sense a withheld anger in Erik and see his clenched fists. Why on earth is he arguing this on my behalf?

Mr. Williams stands in front of Erik's desk. "You are Mr. Destler, correct?"

"Yes sir," he says.

"You will be silent Mr. Destler or the school will rethink your scholarship."

"Yes sir." The idea is so completely ridiculous even Erik doesn't bother concealing his sarcasm when he speaks. Mr. Williams grimaces but doesn't say anymore. Actually, he could probably get in more trouble upsetting the school's most talented and intelligent student than Erik would get in for arguing with a teacher.

Mr. Williams continues with the lesson. He does not call again. I continue to watch Erik. He does not look at me again.

0000000000

I dodge out of the path of the missiles Meg is throwing at me. The grass is cool and soft beneath me and I want to fall asleep. One missile catches me on the cheek.

"You're getting them all dirty, now we can't eat them," I say, picking up a green jellybean with specks of dirt and throwing it away.

"I'll pay you two bucks," says Raoul.

"Nope."

"I would eat one for two bucks," he says.

I sigh. "I know you would." I turn to Meg. "Where did you even get jellybeans? Madame Giry doesn't let you buy candy."

She leans forward and looks around. "I know a guy," she starts.

I throw a wad of grass at her and she laughs.

"Look if you're gonna waste jelly beans, give me a few first instead of throwing them at me," I say.

"You're no fun," she sighs, and gives me a smile as she hands me three green and two orange, my favourites.

"Thanks," I say, popping them in my mouth.

"I heard some kid in your class smart mouthed Mr. Williams and didn't get sent down to the principal's office," says Raoul.

Of course, instantly I know who he is talking about.

"Woah, really?" asks Meg. "How did he get away with that?"

"They say it's because he's some 'musical genius'," says Raoul, putting air quotes around musical genius. I bristle. Raoul doesn't even know him.

"What is his name?" asks Meg.

Raoul shrugs. "It's that weird kid with the mask."

"Erik." I say.

They both look at me.

"His name is Erik Destler. Just because he has a mask doesn't make him weird."

"It's not that Chrissy," says Raoul. "If it was for reasons like he was really sick or something it wouldn't be strange. But he wears a slab of marble covering his face all day, and dresses weird, kind of like an emo but not all punk, and no one sees him outside of class. It's strange."

"I have to agree with Raoul," says Meg. "Sorry Chris."

"What if I started wearing a mask?" I ask. "Does that make me weird? Does that make me different from everyone else?"

"No, you'd still be Chris," says Raoul.

"Exactly. So why is he weird?" I hope Raoul and Meg would feel guilty, but mostly they look at me incredulously.

"Chris, what going on?" asks Meg.

"Nothing," I say. "I just wish you guys weren't so judgmental."

Meg looks very offended. "We are not. We're just saying what everyone else is. Now sit down and eat your jellybeans. I don't want to fight with you."

"Me neither," agrees Raoul. "Especially since we haven't seen each other in so long."

I feel guilty and sit down. Raoul and Meg smile at me and we carry on with the conversation before Erik came up, and I hope I can forget what they have said, though I have a bad feeling I won't be able to.

0000000000

When Miss Meyer announces she is putting us into groups according to our range, like soprano, alto, bass, et cetera, I become a little anxious as I always do. I'm not sure why. I'm always put into the soprano section, which is what I want. Is it because I think others might be better than me or aren't good enough? Maybe it's having Carlotta this year is making me nervous. It's always something different.

As always I am put into soprano group. So are all the girls from soprano group in previous years and good altos and mezzo-sopranos who want to try something new. Carlotta is also put in this group. I don't know how that will turn out, but I know it won't turn out good.

Erik causes a problem. His voice is so amazing and unnatural he can comfortably sing most notes that any man, no matter what vocal classification, can sing. He is not only a bass, but a baritone, tenor, and countertenor as well. This stresses Miss Meyer and Erik doesn't seem to care. He reminds her that for most of their songs he was going to play them on the piano anyway, or perhaps guitar, violin, harp, or any instrument they wanted. Eventually she gives up and tells him he can do what he wants. I had assumed she would come to that conclusion, and so did Erik as he nods and joins the basses. Join is a very technical term, considering he stands feet away from the closest person he is beside.

"Alright," says Miss Meyer, looking slightly frazzled and class has only just started.

"Christine, would you please hand out the choir music while I find the piano music for Erik?"

"Sure, Miss Meyer," I say and stand up to gather the music Miss Meyer was referring to on her desk.

"If I'm playing the piano then why did I have to join a group?" asks Erik, sounding very annoyed.

"Because I needed you to be part of some group but it seems you're in a group all your own," says Miss Meyer, smiling at Erik though he is still glaring. It was exactly the way I would explain him.

Slowly I hand out the music to everyone. Miss Meyer leaves the room to grab something and gives me Erik's music. I'm not sure why but I feel suddenly nervous. I slowly walk over to where Erik is sitting on the piano bench, writing what I assume is music messily on paper. He doesn't notice my approach.

"Erik? Erik?" I say. He doesn't notice. I reach out a hand and tap him on the shoulder.

He jumps and his music goes flying. Angrily he sighs and bends down to pick it up. I help. As I hand back his sheets our hands touch briefly. His eyes flicker to mine then back down.

"Thank you mademoiselle," he says politely.

"You're welcome Erik," I say as kindly as possible. He looks curiously at me when I say his name. "Here's the music Miss Meyer wanted you to have."

Slowly he takes the music. "Thank you."

"Christine," I tell him. I already know he knows my name. "My name is Christine."

"Of course," he says. "Thank you, Christine."

"You're welcome," I smile. He looks more curious and distrustful than before. "And thank you for the help with my music. It sounds amazing. You're very talented."

"Thank you." He's repeated the world several times and still seems unaccustomed to it.

"I'm having trouble with some parts though, not your fault of course, but I don't quite understand so I was wondering…" I hope he understands. Because I do want him to help. I wasn't lying. I do need help with some parts. But also it's natural for me to be curious about him, right?

"So you want me to…help you?" he asks slowly.

"Yes, that'd be great! When could we practice? You're probably busy tonight-"

"No, tonight is fine," he says rushed. He clears his throat. "Tonight should be acceptable. What time do you typically rehearse?"

"About an hour after dinner. Is that alright?"

"It should be fine," he nods. "I will see you at that time in the practice rooms."

"Okay! See you then Erik."

"Alright, Christine," he says, like he isn't sure what just happened.

As I walk back to my spot I feel like I am in a daze myself. Did I really just talk to Erik? And did he actually agree to help me with the music tonight? It's just practice though. So why do I feel so excited and fluttery and…guilty?

Over the course of vocal class I catch Erik looking at me over his shoulder. It's like grade school but seems completely new to him. I shouldn't be complaining. Every time he looks I blush and sometimes smile at him if my first response isn't to look away as I feel my face turn bright red.

When class ends I watch as Erik bolts out the door on his long spindly legs. I get up slowly with a smile on my face. That is until Carlotta corners me with her friends.

"Hi Christine," she says sweetly. "In case you were wondering, I'll be the one getting the solos this year."

"Okay," I say. "Thanks for sharing."

"Well why else would you talk to emo boy? Or were you making a date with the freak?" Carlotta and her friends laugh.

"He's not a freak," I say. Why does everyone keep saying he is?

"Aw how adorable," she says. "Christine's in love with the freak. What a cute couple. The freak and the loser. A perfect pair."

I push away from them as they laugh and head to my next class, not feeling quite as happy as I had before. At least I have tonight to look forward to.

0000000000

"Why are you acting so jumpy Lotte?" asks Raoul as we lounge in the rec room. He had just finished playing a few games of pool with some other guys that had tried to get me to join, but I can't play for the life of me. I keep checking the time. It's already dark outside, and five more minutes must have had passed, right?

"Nothing," I shrug.

"Lotte, I know you better than that. Is Carlotta bothering you?"

"Yeah, a bit I guess, you know how she is. Mostly I'm just worrying about school." It's 7:45. Better time than any. "Actually, I need to go work on something. See you tomorrow?"

"How about I walk you there?" he asks.

Raoul walk me to meet Erik? The two just don't seem able to coexist in my mind, and lately they've been the two main things I've been thinking about.

"Thanks Raoul, but it's alright. It's all the way on the other side of campus and I'll be there for a while."

"You shouldn't be walking that far in the dark," he says concerned.

"Honestly Raoul, I'll be okay. How about I text you when I get there and when I get back to my dorm?"

He sighs. "I don't mean to be over-protective or anything Chrissy, I just care about you, alright?"

"I know." It's not what he is expecting but I don't know what else to say.

"Okay. Bye," he smiles and I wave before walking out the door.

It's really cold outside and I walk as quickly as I can. When I can see the practice rooms I send a quick message to Raoul.

_Hey I'm at the practice rooms. Text you in a little bit :)_

_ -Christine_

Immediately my phone beeps.

_Hav fun litl Lot :D_

I shake my head at his text. Text talk always bothers me.

I stand outside of the doors for a few minutes before realizing how ridiculous I was being. Erik was just a guy, and a guy that was just helping me with my practice. That was all, nothing else.

I flip on lights as I walk in. "Hello?" I call out.

Softly I hear a piano playing. I follow the sound. It must be Erik.

"Erik where are you?" I call out quietly, feeling anything louder would disrupt the gentle silence his music spread through the building.

The music was louder as I approached a room. I am about to enter when a different sound joins it. So sweet that I close my eyes.

Erik was singing! And it was beautiful, the most heavenly thing I had ever heard. Exactly like the song my angel sang to me on the first night.

So Erik is my angel. I had thought so, but to figure it out was amazing and wonderful and too confusing to even think about.

When he finishes I am speechless, and he still hasn't noticed I am here. I walk towards him and his back tenses as he realizes he isn't alone.

"Erik…that was beautiful. You're amazing." I blush. How silly did I sound?

"Thank you, mademoiselle, you are far too kind," he says tensely.

"No really, you deserve much more than that and I can't even describe it," I say. Then my heart pounds as I ask my next question. "You…you are the one who…um…"

"Sang on the first night?" he says, looking at me for the first time that night. "It was a hard connection to make, no? I figured that even if anyone tried to find out who I was, and managed to succeed, they would not try to contact me. Of course, I did not plan on helping you."

"So why did you?" I ask, sitting down beside him on the bench. Uneasily he slides to the opposite end of it.

"You have a beautiful voice, Christine," he says, making me blush. "But with more help and training, it could be marvelous. No voice would ever rival yours."

My voice? He has to be joking. "Erik, I think you're over exaggerating just a little-"

"Erik does not over exaggerate," he barks, making me jump. He looks down at his leather-clad hands folded in his lap. "I am sorry, Christine, I didn't mean to yell. There is just so much you are capable of, and I only wish you could see how magnificent you are."

I don't know what to say.

"Well," says Erik after a few minutes. "Should we begin?"

000000000

Thank you everyone for reviewing! :)

_Partypenguina3_: We gotta love her, don't we? ;)

_PhantomFan01: _Lol thanks!

_Netag Silverstar: _Thank you so much! Yes, Carlotta's an interesting character. Someday maybe I'll attempt a darker story but this one amuses me for the time being :)

_Trrmo77: _Guess we'll have to find out ;) Christine is very fickle though, and who can really resist either of those boys? :P

_Phangirl2017:_ Your wish is my command :P

_MahNameIsChristine: _Hope you liked it :)


	7. Chapter 7

** Here is a special extra-long chapter to kick off 2013! Read and review :)**

Chapter 7

Once again I find myself struggling to pay attention to Mr. William, who is currently reading to us what a perfect extended paragraph should sound like after research, and editing, and whatnot is all done. Apparently his idea is an extremely lengthy, longer than an essay, paper with plenty of fancy words I'm pretty sure he randomly picked out of the dictionary with no idea on what they mean. The people who are listening are hastily trying to scribble notes, though what those notes are about I can't be sure because Mr. William hasn't actually explained anything yet. Oh well, those people are far and few between.

I take a drink of water from my water bottle. Meg has a matching one. They have pictures of dancer's silhouettes leaping and twirling across them. We got them when we participated in a dance camp Madame Giry was running in town one summer for a week. I remember Meg had been the best, and I don't think I did too badly either. The camp and other dancers weren't up to Madame Giry's standards so she only helped the one year then she was done with it.

"Ridiculous," she had said after only the first day. "I'll bet the children spend more time gossiping and snacking than dancing. And at the barre, why I've never seen such poor posture, and their toes were never pointed!"

During the lengthy periods of snacking and gossiping the other children did, Madame Giry had us practising stretches and small dances. We were used to it, but the others weren't and had looked on in awe. At Meg's smile when everyone applauded at the end, in her eyes, I could see her on stage dancing the lead roles. She could do any of them, I was certain of it.

Someone yawns and I look at the clock. Is it possible the hands are going backwards? Honestly, the minute hand seems to tease me, moving 1/100th of a centimeter every ten minutes. There is only so much of Mr. William's droning I can stand.

I put my hand to my mouth as I yawn widely and loudly. The blonde haired guy next to me gives me a look as if to say 'I feel your pain'. It's nice to know I'm not the only one in class who would rather hit themselves over the head with bricks than get up early just to hear Mr. William listen to himself talk.

I stifle another yawn. I was really going to have to talk to Erik about shortening the lesson tonight. After last night's practise went on for three hours, I had to sneak back into my room, not believing Erik's promise that I would not get in trouble if caught. I shouldn't complain. I am lucky I am getting another lesson. Out of anyone, _I_ am getting his help. And help he does. I have never felt truly confident of my voice. I still don't. But now I'm starting to think I can handle more than I had thought.

For an hour he had me singing scales. I never liked scales. They are terribly boring but of course they are what build your voice so there is no way around doing them. I had meekly tried to get us to move on to other things, and it worked surprisingly well.

"Erik?" I had said.

"Yes, Christine?"

"We've been doing scales for about an hour."

"Yes I believe so."

I was surprised at the certainty in his tone. Did he mean for it to go this long? I took a breath and said, somewhat unsurely, "Don't you think it's time to move on to-"

"No."

"But we've been doing them for so long-"

"No."

"But-"

"No."

"Can't we-"

"No."

"Please-"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"You will be the death of me Christine Daaè," he had sighed.

"So we can move on?" I asked eagerly. He was actually going to listen to me?

"Fine. Very well. But only this time, since it is your first lesson. _Only_ this time. You are listening to me, Christine?"

"Yes Erik," I tried to say seriously, but couldn't help grinning. Finally we got to work on the song!

As Erik set up the sheets of music, I looked out of the corner of my eye and saw the corners of his lips were turned upwards.

I don't think I've ever worked as hard in my life as I had in my first lesson with Erik. Even Madame Giry's ballet classes weren't as difficult. He would forgive small mistakes, though he told me that he was only so forgiving because it was our first lesson and he would not be so generous next time. I had never considered a next time, and while as happy as I was that I would continue having his help, I rather felt like I had sold my soul to the devil.

I was exhausted after all the scales, but so excited to work on the song that it had chased the weariness away. Our song, he had referred to it, making me fight off a goofy smile that came out of nowhere. We went over several little sections until they were perfect before moving on to the next. Sometimes he would change something, muttering to himself why he ever thought that would work. I had never understood what was wrong with these 'problems' he changed, but I was afraid to ask. It surprised me, when once in a while he would ask me if a particular part of the song was uncomfortable for me, or if I would like to change something about it. He tended not to believe me when I said it was perfect as it was. How could I change something about it? It was I that had to meet its standards, and I couldn't let Erik change his music so it would suit me.

By the end I was sufficiently tired and thought I could sleep for a couple hundred years right there on the practise room floor. But I had felt whole, as I hadn't in a long time. Like some void was filled and I could finally live in peace and relax. Which is completely ridiculous because with Erik shouting orders at me-and he did alright-there was no peace or relaxing. One moment he was gentle and asking me if he could change part of the music to suit me better, than another he was yelling at me to focus. I could tell Erik could be harsh and cruel when he wants to and I am glad he hasn't been so to me yet.

I am excited for our lesson tonight as exhausted as I am. I hadn't even thought about another lesson until Erik had brought it up at the end of our lesson, which did not happen as I had expected.

"Is there anything else you wish to work on, Christine?" He had asked.

"No I don't think so," I said, struggling to keep my eyes open.

"You have done very well. I expected no less."

"Really? You think so? Thank you." I yawned. "Sorry I'm usually pretty tired."

"Why is that?" he asked, surprising me with his concern.

I shifted uncomfortably. "Just things, classes and such," I said lamely. Really, I just didn't want to talk about my father. I would probably start crying just thinking about him.

I could see he didn't believe me but he kindly didn't push it. "You shouldn't worry your pretty little head over such concerns Christine. The only things I have to comment about your classes is that you don't seem to focus well, likely from lack of sleep in the first place." He gave me a look and I smiled sheepishly. "Of course, your distracting imagination seems to affect you here as well," he teased.

I blushed. "I'm sorry-"

"I am only teasing you Christine, you are doing perfectly. Now make sure to get some sleep tonight. I wouldn't want to be the reason you fall asleep in class."

"Thank you Erik, once again, for helping me," I said.

"Guiding you, Christine, guiding you. Your voice needs no help to reach perfection, your already well on your way there."

I looked at the clock on the wall. "Thank you-oh my gosh!"

"What is it?" He asked, surprised by my alarm.

"Erik, it's already passed curfew. We've been here for three hours!" I panicked.

He calmly considered this. "I hadn't meant for it to go that long, I just forgot the time. I am sorry Christine, perhaps I pushed you too hard…"

"No it's not that Erik," I said. "For once I feel good about my voice. But there are probably people looking for us right now! If we are lucky they haven't checked up on us yet, but Carlotta probably has already told on me! And we'll surely be caught sneaking in!"

I had started pacing the room as I spoke and Erik gently reached out to me. Though he hadn't touched me, the mere thought stopped my pacing efficiently and made all thoughts disappear from my head.

Erik left his hand centimetres from my arm and we both stared at it. I could swear my heart had stopped beating. Eventually he let it drop.

"I promise you will not get in any trouble. Tomorrow we will schedule the lessons earlier and perhaps not as long."

"Tomorrow?" I asked stupidly, still feeling a bit dazed from what had just happened.

"Yes tomorrow," said Erik with a scowl, all gentleness gone. "We can't simply stop after one lesson. Will this be a problem for you?"

"No, no of course not," I said hurriedly, confused by his sudden harsh tone. "I would like to continue with the lessons."

"Good. You will meet me tomorrow then." It wasn't a question.

"At what time?"

"I will let you know," he said.

"Alright. I guess we should go," I said awkwardly.

"That we should." He agreed. He picked up his music and in two large graceful steps was at the door, holding it open for me. "After you, mademoiselle."

I smiled and ducked my head as I walked past him. He opened the doors that led outside for me as well and I managed a soft "thank you". Outside it was so dark that I could barely see Erik standing beside me. Except for his eyes. They seemed to glow.

"Come along Christine," he said.

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"We're going back to your dorm."

"We?"

"I'm not going to let you walk alone in the dark at midnight," he said.

"Oh."

"Come along now," he said, more softly.

"I can't see anything Erik, much less where I'm going."

"That is another reason I am walking you."

"You can see in the dark?" I asked incredulously.

"Perhaps." I couldn't see his face but I knew he was scowling again.

"Like a cat?" I asked. It explained his glowing eyes.

"No, I am not a feline, Christine. Now come or it shall be dawn before you get to your room and you will be sufficiently tired tomorrow."

I felt something brush my arm and I jumped.

"Sorry," said Erik immediately. "I thought since you couldn't see it would be better for me to lead you…" It looked like Erik was already cursing himself for thinking about it. How could someone be so unsure of themself?

"It's alright Erik, it just spooked me." I found his arm in the dark and linked mine through it. "Lead the way, monsieur." I joked, remembering his use of mademoiselle.

When he didn't move I looked up-he was very tall, I noticed-and saw he was looking down on me with wide eyes. I must have been too forward. I looked at my feet, my face heating up from my ears to my neck. I never was forward, but lately I found myself doing things that embarrassed me, all in front of the most imposing and dignified person I know: Erik.

That same imposing and dignified person cleared his throat. "Al-alright." We walked back in silence. It reminded me of the eighteenth century, walking arm in arm with Erik. His clothing didn't dissuade the idea either.

When we reached my dorm I let go of Erik's arm. I felt awkward and silly but it wasn't a bad feeling. "Thank you for the lesson, Erik, and for walking me back. If all goes well my dorm advisor will not be waiting in my room to expel me," I laughed nervously.

"I already told you, you will not get in trouble Christine. Now, don't worry about frivolous things"-at this I rolled my eyes-"and sleep, dreaming of music."

"Will do, maestro," I smiled.

"Sleep well Angel," he said. Then he was gone.

It took me until I was already in bed before I heard his last sentence. Angel? If anything he was my angel, my angel of music. My angel.

Thinking of last night I shake my head. 'My angel' is a bit too intense but he is certainly an angel of music, no doubt. Whenever he is around his intensity rubs off on me and I find myself thinking or saying things I wouldn't if he was not close to me. I wonder if he realizes this.

_Of course he doesn't_, I tell myself. _He probably doesn't even notice how intense he is. _

I look at Erik, sitting at the front of the class. Today his mask is white. Briefly I find myself wondering if he ever wears any colours besides white and black. Red would look rather nice on him. Maybe for a joke I could get him a pink mask. I giggle as I picture him wearing it.

"Miss Daaé, would you like to share with the rest of the class what amuses you so much?"

I look around. How am I always the one getting in trouble? There are plenty of students who text and sleep and talk during class but they don't get in trouble. Only I do. The man wants me suspended.

"Nothing, Mr. William."

"Hmph. Thought so. Now, where was I…"

At that moment the bell rings and in a blink the classroom is empty. I sigh, getting up from my seat and gather my class stuff. I walk sleepily outside to my dorm than into my room to deposit my books for lunch. By the time I get outside Meg and Raoul are waiting for me. Meg is tapping her foot with obvious impatience and I stifle a laugh.

When they turn to see me Raoul grins and Meg looks like she's going to throttle me. "Where have you been?"

I put my hands up in surrender. "Class." I turn to Raoul. "Why's Meg impersonating Miss Meyer's rabid pit bull?"

He shrugs. "She's got fleas."

I laugh and Meg glares at us with her hands on her hips. "Don't think she won't find out, golden boy."

"Find out what?" I ask as a bad feeling immediately spreads through my veins.

Raoul shrugs again. "It's not important."

"Ha!" shouts Meg. I jump and give her an odd look. "I'm not the one you should be looking at," she says.

"Raoul, what's going on?"

"It doesn't-"

"It does matter, what's going on?"

"Christine," he sighs, like I am asking too much.

"Raoul. Tell me what's going on." My stomach jumps around nervously.

"It's not a big deal, okay? Carlotta was just saying some things about you to a couple of her friends. Nothing new there, right?" he says, his fingers drumming rapidly along his leg.

I can tell there is more to it. "Raoul…"

"Oh for Pete's sake!" snaps Meg. "Carlotta was telling everyone how you weren't in your room until late at night and that you've been sneaking out into the forest with Mr. No Big Deal here. I'll spare you the details. And it's spread like crazy." She says in a huff. When she finishes her eyes point daggers at Raoul.

"What?" I ask as my face pales. I look at Raoul who has the decency to look me in the eyes. "You let her say things like that about me?"

"Christine," he says sorrowfully. "I helped you."

"Helped me?"

"Yes, let me explain. She was telling her friends that she thought you were with that creepy Goth kid so I told her that you were with me. I have my own room, so nobody could tell if I was there or not! Plus, I told her we were just hanging out, you know as friends, so I didn't think she'd take it that way!" he says. He does look sorry, I admit to myself.

_Come on Christine, he would never intentionally try to hurt you_, I tell myself. _You've been friends since you were little kids. You should know this. Nothing has changed._

"Didn't know? It's Carlotta, stupid!" says Meg. "You didn't even try to change her mind because you didn't want to. You come out of all this looking cool and Christine sounds like a-"

I slap my hand over her mouth. "Thanks Meg. Raoul, I can't believe you would do this."

"I was really trying to help, Christine. If I argued with her it would just look like I didn't want to admit it. I couldn't do anything."

I have to give him that. "Alright Raoul, I believe you. But what am I supposed to do?"

"Just ignore her," he says, looking much more relaxed than he did before. "It'll blow over like the other rumours."

"No it won't!" shouts Meg. "This ruins not only her reputation but makes her look terrible. Raoul, you could just say you weren't doing anything like that with her. Is it that difficult?"

"At least in the rumour she's with me and not that emo," he snaps.

"Emo?" I ask.

"Erin, or whatever his name is," he says angrily.

"Erik," I enunciate his name more forcefully than I need to. "You know his name."

"I don't get why you care so much Christine. We're your friends."

"And he can't be?" I ask before I can stop myself.

Raoul and Meg look at me.

"What do you mean, Chrissy?" asks Raoul.

"Nothing, I'm just saying you shouldn't judge someone by their appearances." Why was I so nervous about them finding out about Erik? They would at some time? Right?

I realize then that I was never planning on them figuring out. But that isn't fair to them or him. I am obviously going to be spending time with him and they should know. I can't lie to them. But they would never accept him. They already say mean things about him.

Why am I always arguing with my friends about Erik? Yesterday and again today. What is it about him that causes people to not trust him or to think he's weird?

"Chrissy, is something wrong?" asks Raoul.

I look at both of their curious faces. "Of course not. My stomach is just feeling a bit funny. I'll probably be fine by the end of lunch."

"Are you sure?" asks Meg.

"Absolutely," I lie.

We start walking to the dining hall. Meg walks in front of Raoul and I.

"I was worried about you," says Raoul.

"Why?" I ask, thinking of anything I had done lately that would worry him. Well, anything he has known I had done.

"You didn't text me last night to say when you got back. And then I heard about you getting back late."

He looks so forlorn it makes me feel guilty. I want to brush his hair back from his forehead like I did when we were little and Raoul wasn't feeling well. "I'm sorry I forgot."

"What happened?" he asks.

"I was practising my music and I wanted to take a little break. I was so tired and I kinda fell asleep," I say, hoping I look sheepish. I didn't want to lie to him but I don't want him to be mad either. At least I know my story is believable. Meg has already filled Raoul in on all the times I have fallen asleep in class.

"Oh Little Lottie, I should have known. You looked exhausted yesterday," he smiles. "You should get some more sleep."

"I'm trying," I say.

"Sorry for acting like a possessive jerk," says Raoul, his smile lopsided.

"No, Raoul. I should have remembered. You weren't acting like a jerk, you were just worried."

"Okay, here's the deal," says Raoul, seriously despite the smile on his face. It makes me laugh. "You try not to fall asleep in random places and I'll let you off your leash."

"You're terrible," I say, fake punching him in the arm.

"Ouch, you wounded me, Chrissy."

I am about to reply when my phone beeps with a message. It's from Meg.

_Tonight. No Raoul. You give me the full story, chica. _

I don't know what to expect. The message can be playful or serious. I hope it's the first or else I have a lot of explaining to do and I have a feeling that I'm not supposed to talk about Erik's lessons. Now that I think about it, he's never said otherwise.

"Who was that?" asks Raoul. I give him a look. "What? Not possessive, just curious."

"Nothing," I shrug. "And, by the way, you're the one on the leash."

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As usual I am early to vocal class but this time I am the only one here. I set my music and drama class folder on my chair and look around before taking out mine and Erik's music and walking to the piano. I'm fairly good at piano but I don't play it as much as I used to. It doesn't matter. I won't be playing the piano part Erik has for it-I only have the vocal part. Even if I did have the piano part I will never in my entire life be able to play it. It is the most confusing thing to read at a snail's pace, so I have no idea how he plays it at the speed it is supposed to be played at.

Slowly I play out the vocal part with my right hand. With a complicated piece like this it's very hard, and my hand stumbles on keys and my voice wavers as I try to hold it to find the next note on the piano. All in all, it isn't a very good practise.

"What do you think you are doing?"

I jump and turn to the door. For some bizarre moment I had expected Erik, mad at the fact that I was not practising very well. But why would he be mad? He would be glad that I was practising at all.

"You call that singing?" Laughs Carlotta. "I thought you were trying to imitate a cat."

I shrug and hope she will leave me alone.

"I heard about your little rendeez vooz with Raoul," she says.

I shrug again. She is over exaggerating, right? "I think you mean rendez vous," I tell her.

"So you are admitting it?" she says, trying to cover the fact that her pronunciation was wrong.

"No."

"So you're saying you weren't with him?"

"No."

She gives me a strange look. "What are you talking about?"

"What are _you_ talking about?"

Carlotta looks torn between ripping my head off or calling a doctor. "I am talking about you sneaking out to be in the woods with Raoul. I can't believe when he could have me he chooses you! I mean, look at you, than at me. Care to share details, Christine?"

My face goes red and she takes this as confirmation. "Ha! I knew it!"

"I wasn't with Raoul!" I blurt out.

"Who then?" She asks, giving me a look that says sure-I'll-humour-you.

"Nobody."

"You mean Raoul?"

"No!"

"You sound defensive, are you really sure about that Christine? I think you're hiding something," she taunts.

I can't blame Raoul for not trying to change her mind. It obviously isn't going to work. As I try to think of a response someone else steps in.

"Is there a problem here?" Erik. How does he always appear out of thin air? He always seems to be around, even in a conversation with my friends he's there.

"No," Carlotta says in disgust at Erik. My fists clench. An evil smile spreads across her face.

"I was just talking with Christine about her little _rendez vous_ with Raoul last night."

Erik looks at me and I feel like my heart is going to burst. No! He can't think that I was with Raoul like that! Wait. He knows I wasn't because I was with _him_.

"Oh," he says disinterestedly.

"But," says Carlotta. "She was telling me she wasn't with him. Maybe you could tell me who she was spending time with?" Her grin tells me exactly who she really thinks I was with.

Erik looks between me and her. I don't know what to do or say or think-other than Carlotta is the most awful person I have ever met. Whatever we say it won't turn out pretty.

"How am I supposed to know?" he finally says. "I am a musician not her bodyguard. Now if you'll kindly let me rehearse," he turns to me. "Mademoiselle Daaé," and to Carlotta, "Mademoiselle Spart."

Carlotta backs away to her chair giving Erik a look of disgust and bemusement. I get up so Erik can pass by me and sit on the bench, and I sit down beside him, towards the end with a foot of space left in between us. I know how he likes his personal space.

I feel Carlotta's eyes on my back but I don't care.

"What did you call her?" I ask, so softly I know Carlotta can't hear me.

"Who, mon petit moineau?"

"Carlotta. Her last name is Guidicelli not Spart."

One corner of his mouth pulls upwards. "But it should be." When I give him a confused look he says, "It's French, my dear."

"Oh. What does it mean?"

"Christine, you should know this." With one glance at him I'm fairly sure he is teasing me. "What do they teach you at this school?"

I pretend to think about it. "Nothing useful."

"Don't you take French this year?" he asks. While we talk he quietly plays soothing melodies in the background, distracting me from my thoughts.

"Next semester. I'm taking it because I know I need to know French for opera, and Meg wanted me to take it with her. I'm going to fail."

"Nonsense, you will not fail." Erik says this with so much confidence I almost believe him. "Meganne knows French, does she not?"

"Yes," I say cautiously.

"Will she not help you then?"

"She's always so busy with dance. I wouldn't want to take time away from her," I confess. I am surprised by how easily I talk with Erik, even though he can be quite intimidating.

"Yes, she is quite the dancer, no? Splendid indeed, and your dorm advisor too. Strange name, but quite graceful," he says.

"You mean Sorelli? Yeah, she's fantastic," I say, wondering how he knew she was my dorm advisor.

"I will help you with your French then, because I believe your boy isn't entirely comfortable with it," he says drily.

"My boy…" It clicks in. "You mean Raoul? No, he's terrible at French. I think I might be better than him," I laugh.

"Well, we will have to work on that. Right now, focus on your music, and not on _that_," he says in disgust with a glance over his shoulder. I know he means Carlotta. That brings me back to the point of the conversation.

"So what does it mean?" I ask him.

"What does what mean, angel?"

"Spart. You said it's French. What does it mean in English?" I am beginning to feel frustrated and I know Erik is doing it on purpose. I'm just curious.

"Look it up, ma belle," he says.

I sigh, knowing he isn't going to tell me. I wonder if that means it's something he would wish not to repeat. Would Erik say something so unsavory? I glance at him. He is playing with his eyes closed. Probably if he is irritated enough, I decide.

"You're in a particularly good mood today," I say, and I mean it. He isn't smiling, but from his voice and choice of words it sounds like he is.

"I have not been severely annoyed by this school's population so far, we had a wonderful practise last night I believe, I am looking forward to ours tonight, and I walk in and here you are practising."

"I see." I can't help smiling, hearing that I am a big part of why he's in a good mood. Who doesn't want to hear that? "When are we having the lesson?"

"I think we will keep it at the same time today but you needn't worry about getting in trouble going to your dorm late. I have cleared it with the principal who has alerted the teachers."

"Wait, we won't get in trouble?" I ask.

"No. We are all set to go, though I suppose I will cut the lesson back an hour. You need your sleep, my dear," he says

"Thank you Erik!" I can practise with Erik without getting trouble? It is the best thing I have heard all day! But I will be arriving late to my room, and Carlotta will know. She will keep telling people that I have been sneaking out.

"Is everything alright, Christine?" Erik asks with concern.

I think about telling him, but I know it will anger him and he is rarely in a good mood. "It's all good, I'm just…happy. Keep playing, I like listening."

"As you wish, angel."

Listening to him play gives me the most relaxed feeling, and it is what I need after all that has happened. I wonder if he does that on purpose too. I may be sounding paranoid, but Erik just always seems to know what's going on in my head.

"I didn't know you were French," I say after a few minutes.

"There is plenty you don't know about me, mon ange. But yes, I was born in France. I lived there for a while too."

"Really?" I ask. "Meg did too. But that was when she was really little. What's it like? Did you see the Eiffel Tower? I've always wanted to see it in person. And the Opera House. Meg said she lived in Paris, did you? Imagine if you've seen each other and you never knew it!"

Erik chuckles at my enthusiasm. "Yes I did live in Paris, and I saw both the Eiffel tower and the Paris Opera House. Remarkable structures. We moved around a lot, and I was there when I was a young child and a teen. I don't believe I would remember seeing Meganne, at such an age, but it is an interesting thought."

"It must be so pretty there," I say wistfully.

"It is, but not all of it, my dear," Erik says sounding sad. "Like with every place and person, not all of it is beautiful. It can be very dark and precarious. I hope you never have to experience that."

"Oh," I say, feeling confused at his tone.

"But maybe you will get to see its lovely side, Christine," he says, his voice brightening considerably. "I know you would enjoy it very much. There are many beautiful gardens and the architecture is simply stunning."

"Meg would always talk about the boutiques," I say, glancing at him with a smile.

"Ah yes, there are many very fine shops I think would suit you," he says.

"I hope someday I could go. I would love to travel."

"You will," says Erik. "You will tour all around the world as a singer."

"But I won't get to see much in those places," I say. "Do the concerts than move on to the next place without any time spent enjoying it." I cast a quick glance at him. "Of course, I enjoy singing with all my heart, but I would like to see other places as well."

"You don't have to become a professional straight away, Christine. You can do shows and performances than take breaks in between. Even on tour, you will be loved by all so much that they will not complain how long you take."

I smile. "That sounds wonderful."

"It is yours," he says. "As long as you continue under my guidance."

"Of course, maestro," I say.

"Good girl. Now I would suggest a quick practise but we do not need to make that girl any more jealous than she already is."

"Carlotta?" I giggle. "Jealous of me? Yeah, right, she hates me."

"Because you are better than her and she knows it, ma petite. She is not giving you too hard of a time, correct?"

"No, not really, she's just being her normal self."

"Alright. You tell me if she is bothering you okay?"

"Okay. And you'll give her a timeout right?" I can't help sarcasm seeping into my words.

"Something like that," he says, making me laugh. "Go sit down, ma fleur. Class will start any minute."

I look around and realize that the class had filled behind my back while Erik and I were talking. Miss Meyer walks to the front of the class as Erik stops playing and I hurry to my seat, earning confused looks from the people around me.

"Okay, Carlotta will start our scales," says Miss Meyer.

Erik frown and I know he is not happy about this arrangement at all.

Carlotta gets up and struts to the front of the room. "Maestro," she says to Erik, her tone mocking. I think back if she has ever heard me call him that.

Erik looks up at her blankly. I know he is fuming inside. I'm sure he dislikes her more than I do.

"Well, start," she snaps, earning laughs from a few people in the class. She turns to her audience and rolls her eyes as if to say he's-crazier-than-he-looks.

Erik raises an eyebrow. "As you wish, Mademoiselle."

Carlotta opens her mouth to sing and realizes that Erik playing at the top of the piano on a G rather than where we typically start on a C four octaves beneath.

"Excuse me?" she snaps and Erik stops playing. A few people laugh.

"Is there a problem, Carlotta? You seem to be having an extraordinary amount of those today."

Carlotta's face goes red with anger. "Yes there is a problem. You are not playing this correctly."

"Excuse me? You never specified where to start."

_Go Erik_, I think with a smile.

"We always start in the same spot on the C," she huffs.

"My apologies," says Erik. It is apparent he doesn't mean it.

"Okay, again," she says, smoothing out her hair.

Once again she starts to sing than stops abruptly. "What is your problem?" she turns to Erik.

"Whatever are you talking about?" he asks with fake politeness.

"That is not where we start!"

"You said we start on C-"

"Not that C!" she shrieks. The C Erik had played on was again a few octaves above where we regularly start. There are quite a few people laughing at the spectacle Erik is making of Carlotta.

Erik catches my eye and, seeing my smile, winks at me, making me laugh. He must be in a good mood to be acting that playful.

I wonder what Miss Meyer is thinking. I glance over at her and see she is sitting at her desk, her forehead resting against her hand. Her shoulders rise than lower and I try to decide if it's a sigh or repressed laughter.

"What C then, if you would be so kind?" asks Erik.

"The one below middle C!"

"Ah, yes, and what is it called?"

Carlotta's face goes blank. "What do you mean, what is it called? It's a C."

"Which C though?" he asks. "There are plenty of C's. C1, C5, there are rather an impressive amount, all with such different sounds."

Carlotta looks at him like he is crazy. He does sound rather insane but I know he is making fun of her. She looks carefully at the keys on the piano. After a few moments she says "C3."

"Thank you, mademoiselle, for finally giving us the right name, and for teaching the class what they should have known when they started taking vocal. Shall we begin?" says Erik.

At this point I'm laughing into my hand but it's not muffling the sound at all. People beside me are giving me looks, but some are laughing a bit too. Carlotta glares at me. Erik doesn't smile but I know he appreciates it.

"Okay," says Miss Meyer getting up from her desk. "Thank you for that lesson Erik. Now let's start already." She claps her hands together, and I think she might pull her hair out soon. If Erik were anyone else I'd expect him to get kicked out, but no matter what he does he won't be expelled because he's a genius.

"Erik," says Miss Meyer through her teeth.

He nods and starts on the right note. The class carries on without another disruption. I know Erik did that for me. I am thankful but can't help but wonder what he would do if something really bad happened to be. I probably didn't want to know. I wonder why, when he barely knows me, why he would do things like that for me. Of course, that reminds of things I don't want to consider, like the party, the song he sang, the rose and the note, the terms of endearment, our song…

I shake my head. He hasn't brought it up. Neither will I.

0000000000

** Okay, I know people are probably tired of Raoul acting like a fop, but I promise you there are reasons and he won't act like that all the time. We will be seeing his good side soon **** :) I hope you all had a great holiday and New Year's Eve. One of my New Year's resolutions for 2013 is to update more. I will try my best! Thank you to everyone who reviews and/or reads my phanfic-it is much appreciated!**

**LillySmith**-I will do my best :)

**Partypenguina3**-Haha yeah that would make things easier for Christine. Thanks for pointing out that mistake. It shows how I didn't look over it before I posted considering it's in the first sentence. I went back and fixed it and I will check my work before posting from now on :)

**13Aphrodite**-Thanks! :)

**Trrmo77**-Thanks! I just wanted him to somehow help her while keeping his whole I-don't-know-why-I'm-helping-you-but-you-better-be-thankful-for-it personality. Plus, it showed his cool ventriloquism. Two birds with one stone :)

**Netag Silverstar**-Thank you! I'm a complete Erik/Christine shipper but Raoul isn't that bad. Of course, I think I've made him look bad now but he will redeem himself :)

**PhantomFan01**-Yeah, I think so too :)

**Carameltootsieroll**-Thank you! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you very much for all of your reviews! And a major thank you to my beta phantomsmelody1871-I can see big improvements in this story already! :)**

**Read and review!**

Chapter 8

"This makes no sense," I complain, gesturing to the homework lying out in front of me.

"What part of it doesn't make sense?" asks Raoul, lying on the grass with his own homework spread out in front of him.

"All of it." I roll onto my back and put my arms over my face.

"Come on Lotte, it's not that hard."

"No, it's not hard, it's just boring," I say.

Raoul laughs. "Yeah, I don't think Mrs. Gregory will go for that."

I move my arms enough to glare at him.

"Okay, okay, just remember that, as soon as you're done with this, you can do something fun," he says.

"You're a terrible study buddy," I tell him. I turn back onto my stomach. The grass is soft and cool and I want to just lie down and soak in the sun. It's only the beginning of September and it is still as warm as it was in August. Raoul and I wanted to soak up the last of the sun before it turned cold so here we are with our homework. Meg is, as usual, at more ballet practice. If she was here, maybe we wouldn't be getting as many looks from people as we are, and girls wouldn't walk by and giggle while looking at us.

"Look," someone whispers. I look over my shoulder and see two grade nine girls.

"He's so cute," says the one with brown hair pulled up in a ponytail.

"Why is he with _her_?" the other one, a girl with a neon pink crop top, asks.

"Who knows," says ponytail.

They giggle. "Carlotta knows," crop top laughs.

"You think it's true?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Carlotta is her roommate, so she would know. And did you hear how Carlotta found Christine looking through her stuff…"

The girls walk away and I glare at their retreating backs. "Stupid, snobby, stuck-up, conceited," I muttered.

"Christine, they're just dumb freshmen," says Raoul.

"Sure, easy for you to say, when you're, like, their idol."

Raoul grins. "Well, what can I say? It's hard not to like this." He gestures to himself.

I smack his shoulder. "Ugh, they're perfect for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Arrogant and pretty with nothing inside their skulls," I say matter-of-factly.

"Oh, really?" Raoul pushes me over. "You're going to regret that," he says, tickling my stomach.

"Cut it out," I say between bursts of laughter. "Cut it out! I can't breathe Raoul!"

"Are you sorry?"

"Yes, yes!" I shout. Tears trickle down my face.

"What will you do for me if I stop?"

"Nothing!"

"Wrong answer!"

"No, please Raoul! I'll do your homework, just stop!"

He sighs. "Because I'm such a great person, I guess I'll just let you go for nothing."

The tickling stops and I gasp for breath, clutching my stomach. "You're a bully." I glare at him.

"I know," he says, smiling.

Somehow we finish all our homework before dinner, after much complaining, procrastinating and long periods of talking about nothing related to school. We have a few minutes before dinner, so Raoul excuses himself to drop off his homework in his room, and then walks me to my dorm.

"Don't get too excited," I joke as we enter the grade 11 girls' dorm. "Everyone's probably at lunch by now."

"No worries, I don't have eyes for any of those girls." He smiles and I smile back, but it feels forced.

"Here we are," I say as I take out my key and unlock the door. "The crazy house."

"It shocks me every time we're in here just how…" Raoul is at a loss for words as he motions his hands in a bizarre pattern.

"Carlotta-ish?" I supply.

"Yeah, how _Carlotta-ish_ it is in here," he says.

"Well it is her room," I point out.

"And yours."

I snort. "I wish."

I drop my stuff on my desk and, as I see Raoul look at the things on my dresser, I am glad I have gotten better at hiding the rose-though wilted-and the note. Actually, it wouldn't take a detective to find them. Currently, they are hidden in my bedside table under a small picture album Madame Giry gave me for my tenth birthday.

"Ready to go?" asks Raoul when he sees I'm looking at him. "We don't want to make Meg wait."

"Aw, are you afraid of the short little ballerina?" I tease as we walk down the stairs and out of the dorm. As I expected, the people that aren't in the dining hall are on their way there, laughing and walking as slowly as possible, lingering in the last of the sun's rays which will be gone by the time dinner is over.

"I'm not afraid," scoffs Raoul. "She's just rather vicious for a ballerina. Aren't they supposed to be all about pink and bows and frills?"

"Never repeat that. Not only will Meg cut out your kidneys and strangle you with them, I might help her."

Raoul's eyes widen. "Repeat what?"

"Good boy," I smile.

Outside of the dining hall Meg stands with Hayden, laughing shyly at something he says. Hayden sees us first and smiles. Meg waves and looks at me to remind me that we are meeting after dinner. Like I would forget.

I gulp, then smile and wave back. I might as well enjoy the last minutes before my interrogation starts.

"I forgot about Hayden," says Raoul quietly in my ear.

"Yeah, so did I," I say. Meg won't be the only one asking questions tonight.

Finally, we sit down at a table with our plates. "So Hayden, what classes do you take?" Raoul asks amiably.

"Right now, I've got math, science, French, and drama," he says.

"Ouch," I say.

"Most people's schedules are like that except for yours, Lotte," says Raoul, poking me in my side.

"Christine has all her electives this semester," Meg explains to Hayden.

"You're all talking about it like it's a good thing," I say.

"It is," says Meg.

"It means she doesn't have any electives next semester," Hayden clarifies kindly for Meg.

"Oh. Wow, that kinda sucks for you, doesn't it?" she says.

"Yeah, thanks Meg."

Our conversation carries on through dinner, about anything and everything, and luckily with no awkward pauses. I was worried that Hayden might create a rift between us, or he might not like us, but he is very nice and funny. I can see how Meg likes him, and he and Raoul get along well too. I don't participate much in the conversation, fretting about what to say to Meg and thinking about my lesson tonight, but Hayden politely directs the conversation to include me, which I appreciate.

After dinner, we exit the dining hall, leaving quite a few people behind that weren't eating but talking loudly.

"As fun as this has been, boys, it's a girls' night, so bye!" Meg says, waving to Raoul and Hayden. She grabs me by the arm, and drags me around to the other side of the dining hall where we start to walk to the female teachers' dorm.

"You might want to trim your claws." I wince as I remove her hand from my arm.

"Sorry," she says, sounding like she only partly means it.

"What's the matter, Meg?" I ask.

"I'm not going to fight you, Christine," she says with a smile. "I just want to know what's going on with you. Plus, I'd kick your butt."

I laugh and follow her up to the apartment she and her mother have. Once inside we both immediately go about heating up a bag of popcorn and making two mugs of hot chocolate. It is a strange snack, and one Meg and I have loved since we were little, much to the exasperation of Madame Giry. We had to give it up in grades seven and eight, when Meg got braces and complained of the kernels getting stuck. I gave it up too, although I didn't need braces, luckily, because as naïve as it sounds, I'm not completely sure how much money is in the account my parents gave to me. Actually, I'm not sure at all. But Madame Giry manages it for me and will until I'm eighteen, so I don't think I necessarily need to know.

Once our snack is ready, we go into Meg's room and settle on her bed. The green covers are plush beneath me and, if I lied down, I am sure I would fall asleep right away. I toss a few pieces of popcorn in my mouth. Meg slowly blows across her hot chocolate and takes a small sip, her eyes on me.

"So?" I say, hoping she will get right to it. I feel antsy sitting, waiting for the barrage of questions I know are ready to explode out of her.

"How do you know Erik?" she says, asking the question I least expected.

So I tell her. I tell her that the guy who sang to me is Erik. I tell her how he helped me in class, how he fixed my music, how I asked for his help, and his surprise at me talking to him. But I don't tell her about the rose and the note. I don't tell her how I feel. It makes me feel terrible, but I know she'll make a big deal out of it. She is already freaking out.

"It sounds kind of creepy. I'm not sure about this, Christine," she says honestly.

"It's not like that, Meg," I say. "He just wanted to dedicate a song to me because he thought I was good. Then he helped me fix my music. Honestly, he's a genius. If only you could hear him Meg! It's amazing! And he agreed to teach me!"

"It's good you're happy Christine, but I'm still kind of worried."

"Erik would never hurt me, Meg. Actually, after my lesson last night, he walked me to my dorm because he didn't want me walking in the dark alone. And you know where I'll be and I have my phone," I add when Meg doesn't look convinced.

"I guess if you're sure…"

"Meg, Erik is my friend. He would never hurt me. We're only friends and I trust him."

"If you're happy about it, that's enough for me," says Meg. "I'll still keep an eye on you. He seems nice enough, though he's kind of strange."

I laugh. "He is! That's what's so wonderful about him! He's different from everybody else, like I am."  
"You're not that different," says Meg.

"I feel like I am," I shrug. "It's not bad to be different."

"Of course not. I'm sorry for being such a horrible person. I must have seemed like such a vain, insensitive-"

"No, Meg," I interrupt. "You just didn't understand. Most people judge others by their appearance; it's just what people do."

Meg gives me a small smile. "But you didn't. You didn't judge him by his appearance."

"I guess not," I say with another shrug. "I think it's because I saw someone who was hurting on the inside, someone who just didn't fit in, who had dealt with things they shouldn't have. I saw me."

Meg has a sympathetic look. "He does sound like someone you would relate to."

I don't mention how I only assumed those things and that I really know nothing about him. It might bring down the wall of Erik-is-trustworthy. Forget that, it would smash it down with a sledgehammer.

"Have you told Raoul yet?" she asks.

"No," I say.

"Yeah, it's probably for the best."

I look up at her. "You think so?"

"Um, yeah, he'd go ballistic. Raoul is many good things, but he is kind of over-protective, if you haven't noticed."

"I have," I say. Wanting to turn the conversation away from Raoul, I bring up my friend's new interest. "So how did you meet Hayden?"

After that it was like old times, hanging out on her bed talking, or in her case gushing, about boys, and when we finish our special snack we head out to the living room and put in a movie. Meg chooses The Notebook, which we have watched hundreds of times.

Towards the end Meg's mother walks in the door. "Hi girls," she greets, taking off her black jacket and walking into the kitchen.

"Hello, Madame Giry," I say.

"Hi, Mama," calls Meg.

"Girls, I hope you are going to clean this up," Madame Giry says, talking about the mess we made from the hot chocolate and popcorn. Personally, I don't think it's that big of mess.

"Sure, Mama," says Meg.

"Christine, you might want to think about getting ready to leave. I believe you have a singing lesson in ten minutes."

I jump to my feet. I'm about to ask how she knew that, until I remember Erik had to ask the permission of the principal and teachers for our lessons so I wouldn't get in trouble sneaking in. "Oh, alright, Meg-"

"Will clean up the mess herself, making her the best best friend that has ever walked this earth."

"I was going to say that," I say smiling, pulling on my sneakers.

"Yeah, yeah. Hurry, you don't want to make emo boy angry," she says.

"Meg," I caution.

She puts her hands up in surrender. "Hey, I meant it in the nicest way possible."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," I say and close the door behind me. I walk quickly to the practice rooms. I know Meg couldn't know about Erik's impatience because I didn't tell her. It reminded me that I probably don't want to keep him waiting.

"Erik," I call, when I'm sure the door of the hallway is shut completely. I wait a few minutes, and then roll my eyes at his lack of response. I'm sure he just likes making me look for him. At least last time he played the piano so I could follow it. Right now, it is dead silent.

I sigh and try the first door on my left. Locked. The door on my right? Locked. I try the first few doors, for the first time cursing how many practice rooms the school has. I turn to the fifth one and try to open it. It's locked as well. In frustration, I kick it and wince at the pain that shoots through my foot.

"Now, now, my dear, there's no reason to make a racket. I shall open the door for you," says Erik. An arm appears behind me, and he uses the set of keys in his hand to unlock the door. He pushes it open to reveal darkness. I turn to face him, a scowl on my face. "You should know that, with your small frame, trying to kick down a door is more likely to end badly." He glances at my foot. "You might want some ice for that. And sorry to add insult to injury, Christine, but I don't believe you found what you were looking for in that room."

I glare at him, which he ignores.

Erik reaches past me to shut the door and locks it again. "Come along, Christine."

I stay where I am and cross my arms. "We need a better system."

"I rather like the mystery," he says, and I scoff.

"Mystery? It takes me ten minutes to find the room you're in."

"Actually, it's been fifteen minutes since I've expected you. You really need to work on your punctuality. I won't have you being rejected from auditions because you get lost."

I resist the urge to kick something again, and step to follow him. A whimper escapes my mouth as I pull my foot off the ground like I had stepped in lava.

"Christine?" Erik turns around and is suddenly solemn.

"My foot," I say. It's probably nothing serious. If Erik becomes worried we'll never get to our lesson. "It just hurts a bit. It's probably no big deal."

"Can you walk? Does it hurt when you're not putting weight on it?"

"No, it doesn't hurt now. I can try to walk," I say. I take a step forward and fall forward, grabbing on to Erik to steady myself. Erik is rigid, but I barely notice as pain shoots through my foot again.

Erik helps steady me as I stand on one foot. "You don't think it's broken, do you?" I ask. What if I can't dance anymore? What will Madame Giry say? How will I get a part in shows if I can't dance, let alone walk?

"I don't think so, Christine. It will be fine. I'll have to get ice, though."

"From the main building?" I moan.

"Yes, my dear. But you can wait in the practice room."

"Wait? You mean, alone?"

"Yes, Christine," he says, looking amused. "I don't expect you to be able to limp all the way to the teacher's lounge." Suddenly, he looks a bit nervous. He reaches out his arm to me. "I suppose you can limp to the end of the hall with some assistance?"

I shrug and put my arm around his waist, and his wraps around my waist. His height causes him have to lean at an odd angle to help me, and I want to laugh, except that would be the exact wrong thing to do. It takes us a while, but finally we make it to the practice room. Erik continues to help steady me as he uses his other hand to push open the door of the right room. Inside, the light is on, and music is spread all over the piano and in stacks beside it.

"Were you practising or moving in?" I mutter.

"This is only a small fraction of my music, ma belle," he says, startling me. I wasn't aware he had heard me. Erik helps me to the piano bench.

"Now what?" I ask after I sit down.

"I will be back in a few minutes. Perhaps you can practise on your own until then?"

"Okay," I say, looking down at my hands in my lap and trying not to show how much I really didn't like the idea. It sounds childish to be afraid of being alone, but I am. It's funny, because I'm so independent, but being alone really scares me.

Of course, Erik catches on to this immediately. He crouches down beside me, and even then he's the same height as I am sitting. He lifts my chin with one hand. I realize he isn't wearing his gloves. His fingers are long and thin. Perfect for playing the piano.

"Angel," he says softly. I can't look away as his eyes burn into mine. "I will hurry and be back as soon as I can. Just sing and the music will chase your fears away."

I nod, my chin still in his hand. He pauses, then pulls his hand away and stands up. He tucks a stray curl behind my ear and walks to the door. He closes it behind him. Then he's gone.

I turn to face the music on the piano. I don't want to sing because my throat feels tight, which is strange, because it usually isn't when I'm afraid. To distract myself, I try to play the music Erik has on the piano. After I am a few bars into the music-taking me about ten minutes-I start to wonder where Erik is. He should be here soon, right? I turn to face the stacks of music, and, careful not to misplace any of the sheets, I look through it.

He has music by many composers, and I can see some he wrote himself from the elegant scrawl of the titles and little notes he has in the margins. I wonder how he could have any more music than this. Does he carry his music here every day? It's quite a lot to carry. And I've never seen him carrying it. In fact, outside of our classes and lessons, I never see him anywhere.

I look to the door. Why is he not back yet? It must be half an hour already or more. What if something happened to him? He wouldn't leave me here. He told me he would be back. What if the outside door was locked by accident and he can't get back in?

I curl my legs to my chest, not caring about the pain in my foot. I close my eyes and play the scenes of my favourite musicals and operas in my mind. It doesn't stop it. It doesn't stop the memory of when I was nine. Papa had died. He was gone. No more laughter or hugs or stories. Suddenly, I was all alone. And that's when being alone started scaring me.

I spent the rest of my time until my arrival at the school at a neighbor's house. They stopped checking up on me as soon as I got here. Sure, they were cordial enough. But they weren't my Papa. The summers I spent alone at school were spent trying to forget how alone I really was. I guess I could have gone with Madame Giry and Meg, but it wouldn't have been right. I would be forcing myself upon them, and I couldn't do that.

Tears run down my face as, once again, I remember how alone I really am. Everyone I know has someone. Meg and Madame Giry have each other, and Raoul has his family in Los Angeles, not that he has a lack of friends here.

The loneliness crushes in around me and it feels like I am suffocating. I get up and push open the door, ignoring the screaming pain in my foot. I run down the hall as best as I can. I throw all my bodyweight into the doors and continue running outside. It's very dark, making me feel even more alone, if that is possible. I can't see a thing. My breathing is laboured, and I close my eyes against the pain in my foot.

I collide with someone.

I fall forward and the person catches me in their arms.

"Christine?" says Erik, sounding bewildered.

"Erik?" I ask, just as surprised, my throat thick and tears streaming down my face.

"Oh, Angel," he sighs, pulling me into his arms. I bury my face in his chest, and my tears soak his shirt, though he doesn't say anything. He holds me tight as my body is racked with sobs.

"Shhhh, Angel, it's alright, everything will be alright," he whispers, his cheek resting on the top of my head.

I can't remember the last time someone told me that. Not since Papa died. Because things haven't been fine since then. But will they…could they now?

Erik sings softly, like a lullaby one would sing to a small child. Calm washes over me, and soon the sobs stop shaking my body and the stream of tears turn to a few teardrops on my cheeks and eyelashes. I give a shuddering breath and release the chokehold my arms had around Erik's neck. He ducks his head down so he can see my face clearly. I don't know what to say, so instead I sit still, watching him watch me.

He reaches up and gently brushes a tear off my cheek with his thumb. "Angel, are you alright?"

"I don't think so," I say with a small, forced smile.

"What happened?" he asks. I try to think of how to tell him without sounding like a little kid who is scared of the imaginary monsters under their bed. "You don't have to tell me, I shouldn't have asked," says Erik.

"No, Erik. _I_ crashed into you. I think you deserve an explanation."

He smiles. "Angel, I hate to burst your bubble, but it didn't hurt me. Actually, I'm more worried about whether I hurt you."

I shrug.

"And your foot," he says, as if he just remembered. "You silly girl, what were you doing? You've probably injured it further! I had some ice here…" He looks around the ground for the ice he had been carrying and I bite my lip to hold back a smile. I can barely see him; he is cast in shadow. I know that's how he prefers to be seen. In shadow, if not at all.

As he looks around, not leaving me for a second, I realize, I look at his face. Well, half of his face. His cheek bone is sharp, as is his jaw line, but it is rather attractive, I admit. His nose is covered by his mask, which reaches from his hairline to the top of his lip on the right side of his face. What catch my eyes whenever I look at him, however, are always his eyes, which are currently still looking for the ice that I'm starting to think is nowhere near us. His lashes are long and dark, almost feminine, but that's one word I would never think of using to describe Erik. His hair is messy, probably from me tackling him, and hangs around his face. It's dark black and reaches his chin. There is a leaf caught in one of the locks.

Without thinking, I slowly reach out a hand to take out the leaf. When my hand is inches from his face, he looks up.

"Ah, here it is-" His words abruptly cut off as he catches sight of my hand. His lips part, but nothing comes out. I feel his eyes on my face, but I can't think. I just have the strange urge to get the leaf out of his hair and can't think of anything else.

I pull the leaf out and hold it in front of both of our faces. "There was a leaf…in your hair," I manage to breathe.

He lifts his hand, and delicately holds the stem of the leaf between two fingers, right below mine. I look at it, than at his face. His eyes are on me, as if he is seeing an illusion. At the same time, we let go, and a cool breeze blows it away. I shiver, and Erik suddenly realizes where we are.

"Oh, Christine, you're freezing," he says.

I hadn't noticed.

Erik stands up and takes off his jacket. "Take this," he says, and helps me put on the coat. He rolls the cuffs five times but they still hang over my hands, and the hem falls to my knees as Erik helps me get up.

I giggle because of the awkwardness of the moment before and how I have no idea what to think.

Erik looks down at me, and I swear he looks relieved, though I'm not sure why. "It's a bit big," he says with a small chuckle.

"A little," I laugh.

"Here's some ice for your toe." He holds up a small bag. "How does it feel?"

I move it around and wince. "It still hurts."

"Try to keep the ice on it for a little while, okay? If it still hurts in the morning, tell your dorm advisor or one of the teachers."

"Okay," I agree. And not caring how silly it looks I stuff the small bag into the toe of my shoe to numb my sore toes. It is freezing. I shiver, and Erik shakes his head at me.

He looks in the direction of the practice rooms, then towards the school. "There's no point in going back to practise, so we might as well get you back to your room."

"What?" I ask, fighting off a feeling of disappointment.

"I won't make you walk," he says.

Before I can ask what he means, the ground disappears from beneath my feet. I throw my arms around Erik. His height is even more apparent now that I am feet above the ground.

"Angel, I'm not going to drop you," he says.

"I know," I say, trying to recover some of my pride.

"You can't walk, so there isn't another way to get you back to your room," he continues, as if in an argument.

"I know, Erik-" I repeat.

"It's too cold for you to wait outside here, and I don't want toe ankle to get worse-"

"Erik!"

He looks at me in surprise.

"I know. It's okay," I say soothingly. I didn't know what he was arguing with himself about, and I didn't want him to be fretting over this when he's only trying to help.

"Sorry, Erik…_I_ forget myself sometimes," he says, looking thoroughly embarrassed just without blushing.

I recall him calling himself by name before in third person, but I choose not to ask him about it. "There's nothing wrong with that, Erik."

He sighs. "If only you knew," I think he mutters. He clears his throat. "I guess we should go."

As Erik walks to the dorm, I feel myself swaying with his steps, lulling me to a sleepy state. "Now, if you don't mind my asking, why were you running in the dark with an injured foot?" he asks.

I sigh sleepily. I had wanted him to forget. The reason seems foolish now. "It's kind of silly," I say.

"Nonsense, I'm sure you had a reason. It may be not an ideal reason, such as the one that led you to kicking a door, but a reason nonetheless."

I smile. "That was because you're stubborn."

"You wound me, Angel," he says. "But really, you were in tears, my dear. It pains me to see you so distraught."

"It was because you left me," I blurt out.

Erik stops walking. "Because I left you?" he asks unsurely.

I blush, hoping he doesn't see it. "It wasn't your fault. It just reminded me of when my Papa left me." Erik doesn't speak, so I explain. "He…he died when I was nine. Just before I auditioned here," I say. My puffy eyes start to blur with tears. "It was cancer. I didn't have anyone else. I lived with a neighbour who didn't care what happened to me after I left and I've lived here ever since. I didn't ever want to sing until this year, and sometimes I still just want to sit and cry."

"What changed your mind, mon Ange?" he asks softly.

Sniffling, I shrug weakly. "I don't know. It doesn't feel like he's left me. It feels like he's watching me, but it is okay. I feel like he's happy."

"I'm certain he is, watching his daughter become a beautiful young woman and hearing her sing like an angel."

I laugh. "He used to tell me, that when he died, he would send me an Angel of Music. He would tell me stories of Lotte and her Angel when I was a little girl."

"Oh?"

"I thought you were my Angel of Music on the first night," I admit.

Erik's laugh is grim. "I am anything but that, ma fleur." He starts walking again, and I fall back into a tired semi-consciousness. When he starts singing softly, I feel myself becoming less and less aware of what is happening. And yet, I feel completely safe. I think about how strange that is. The last time I was safe was with Papa. The last time I was whole was with Papa. The last time someone said things were going to be alright was with Papa.

"Are you going back alone?" I murmur.

"Seeing as you are not going back with me, yes, yes I am," says Erik, sounding amused.

"You shouldn't be alone," I mumble sleepily. "I'm alone, no one should be alone."

"You're right, Angel, no one should be alone," he whispers.

I turn my face into his chest. His shirt is soft, and right then, as Erik continues to sing where he left off, I am in the most comfortable place. Doors creak open then shut, but I barely notice. My eyes are closed, and I doubt I can lift them if I want to.

Suddenly, the warmth of Erik disappears, and I'm hugged by blankets. A soft, feather light brush on my forehead, then I am fast asleep.

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**A/N: And that is chapter 8 :) Hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for all your reviews-I love reading them so much!**

_13Aphrodite_-Thank you! I know he'd not as dark as he is in lots of stories, so I hope he's not too…Raoul-ish. If he can be compared to the fop than I think I may have a problem. I can tell you in the end Carlotta will get what she deserves. Will it make her a better person or affect her in any way? We'll see… :)

_PandaRox_- Haha okay :)

_LillySmith_-Thank you so much! Rant away, I don't mind :P I always try to think of how they might react so I hope it is believable :)

_Sharayel_-Thank you! I am glad you are enjoying it :)

_PhantomFan01_-Thanks! There will be more fun Erik/Carlotta hatred coming up :)

_Phangirl2017_-Haha don't worry, this will be an Erik/Christine story in the end :)

_Trrmo77_-Lol yeah I know but it makes Erik angry which is always interesting. Thanks so much It is similar to the original but I have changed it in certain ways :)

_Zoesy27_-We will definitely learn more about his past, I just need to find the right moment! I've actually started writing a whole background on him just so I can put it in when it's time. :)

_OperaFan_-Haha, er…oops. It was supposed to be Sweden but I guess the two got switched in my mind. I couldn't remember so I thought, "Blonde hair is a Swiss thing, right?" but now I think it might be a Swedish thing. I really have no idea. No, she actually doesn't speak French, so our Phantom may have to help her with that! I thought that song just fit his feelings for her so well it brought me close to crying. Real opera? Yeah, I'll find somewhere to fit it in. I went back and switched music to mucus haha oops. Thanks so much! :)

_PartyPenguina3_-Thank you so very much! Actually I should have read the stories over, I am always nervous to, though, and I'm not sure why. Haha no one minds Raoul as the fop and I have to agree. Thanks, it actually wasn't that clever, I just remembered from the musical "Toad? Perhaps it is you who are the toad" so I had to add that. As for Mr. William's lectures on paragraphs I think I'm just taking out my frustration since I seem incapable of writing one haha. I'm really happy you're enjoying it! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**A major thank you, once again, to my wonderful beta phantomsmelody1871! And a happy birthday to Everyonedeserveslove on January 31! Have a virtual Erik hug :)**

Chapter 9

Friday morning, I wake up bright and early for once. It takes a few minutes to remember what happened last night. When it does come back, I feel my cheeks flame. Erik must think me a coward! Or a child who can't bear to be on her own without breaking down in tears. I must disgust him.

The last thing I remember before I fell asleep is the squeak of my door opening and Erik putting me down on my bed. We're lucky Carlotta didn't see us. She wouldn't be up at midnight anyway, and who could catch Erik when he didn't want to be found? No one, I thought. When I stand up, I notice I am still wearing my clothes from yesterday.

_Well, you didn't think he was going to change your clothes for you?_

My cheeks flush at the mere idea. In any company besides his-I shake my head. The cuffs on Erik's coat unrolled as I slept, and once again hang far off my hands. I have the strange compulsion to keep on the jacket. It is really comfy, I have to admit. I move to fold it-he would want it washed first after I slept in it-then I stop. It doesn't really matter that much, I decide.

Taking a step towards my backpack, my toes feel like I dropped a boulder on them. I hadn't thought I kicked the door _that_ hard. The bag of ice is nowhere to be seen, so I assume Erik took it since I was asleep and it would not be used.

I limp to my backpack and put the jacket inside. Slowly, I change into new clothes, throwing the ones from yesterday into a hamper beside my bed, promising myself I would get around to the laundry at some point. I find my shoes evenly placed along the foot of my bed. I smile at the odd perfection Erik insists upon. Throwing a look at the sleeping and snoring form of Carlotta, I head out the door.

After brushing my teeth, I head out, and, at Erik's request, go to see the school nurse. The trek across the school grounds is painful, and the looks people give me at my hobbling walk is unappreciated. When I make it to the nurse's office, I'm grinding my teeth. I better not have broken it-Erik will dearly pay for it. Really, it isn't his fault, but I need someone to blame, and the door isn't fulfilling enough. It wouldn't reply with a sarcastic retort.

"Mrs. Hendrix?" I ask shyly.

A tall woman with a short, blonde haircut pops up from behind the counter, startling me. "Hello," she says warmly. She has a box of Band-Aids in her hand, and empties them into a metal container on the counter.

"Hi, I'm Christine." I have seen this woman at the school, but have never spoken to her. With as many students as we have, there are, at the least, two nurses on duty, and the few times I made the trip here, I was always met by the other one.

"What can I do for you, Christine?"

"I seem to have bruised my toe," I say vaguely.

"Let me have a look at it." I sit down in a chair and she kneels down beside me. I take off my shoe and sock so she can look at it. I hadn't noticed that morning that it was swollen and very red. She touches it in various places, during which half of them I make a face or suck in a sharp breath. "I can tell you didn't bruise it," she says, looking up at me.

"Good," I sigh in relief.

"You seem to have jammed it. How did you do that?"

I shrug. I'm not about to admit I kicked a door during a tantrum.

"Well, Christine," she says, standing up. "It will get better. I recommend staying off of it as much as you can, and keeping it elevated when possible."

"And dance?" I ask hopefully.

"No chance." She gives me an apologetic look. "No sports or activities that will aggravate it further. I will write you a note."

"How long will it take to get better?" I say glumly.

"Only about a week, dear. Nothing to fret about." She hands me a note. "You give that to Madame Giry, alright?"

I thank her and leave, feeling worse about breaking the news to Madame Giry than to have to go without ballet for a week. I could catch up. However, Madame Giry would not see it that way. She would fret about the practice time I would spend doing nothing, then she'd worry about me, making Meg worry as well and make me feel bad. Lastly, she'd ask how in the world I'd done it, and I wouldn't be able to lie to her, which would make her mad. I had risked breaking my foot, and I was lucky I didn't shatter every bone in it.

The trip didn't take as long as I had thought, and I still have plenty of time to make it to breakfast at Meg's, so I linger outside. The summer is finally giving in, I think, as a cold wind whips around me. The sun is shining, but I don't feel it much. I wish I brought a jacket. Then I remember I do have one-Erik's. It wouldn't help the rumours if I wore it, since it's obviously not mine. But I'm so cold, and I don't want to go all the way back to my room…

I open my bag and pull it out. As I tug it on and roll up the sleeves, I'm enveloped by his smell. I hadn't realized he had one until now. Bitter, like the black coffee Papa used to drink, and like ink. That would easily be explained by his time around music and writing his own. I take a deep breath and sigh. The smell is foreign, and yet familiar, as if I have known it all my life.

"Christine!"

I turn at the shout. "Hey, Raoul." Others turn to see where the sound had come from, shattering through the silence. They whisper and look at each other knowingly.

"Christine," he says, flashing a smile as he jogs up to me. "Didn't think you were ever up this early, and outside at this-" He seems to have just noticed my appearance for the first time. "Whose jacket is that?"

"Papa's," I say, knowing it will make him change the subject immediately.

"Ah," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Do you want to walk?"

"Sure," I say curiously. "But I have to be back in time to eat breakfast with Meg."

"Yeah, okay." I give him an inquiring look, but he just looks at the ground. We walk in silence for a few minutes. Now that the cold is not so intense, I can enjoy how the leaves of the trees are starting to change into rich reds, oranges, and yellows, as if the top of the trees have suddenly turned to fire. Birds chirp a cheerful tune that only they understand, but have granted everyone the pleasure of listening to. Despite all that's happened, I feel high in spirits.

"What's wrong with your foot?" Raoul asks.

"I jammed it. I can't dance for a whole week, and I have to keep it elevated, and blah, blah, blah." I give him a smile. "I feel ripped off. I didn't even get a fancy cast for you and Meg to sign. I would let you tattoo your signature on, but I suppose that would aggravate it more."

Raoul grins and I bite my tongue, knowing that Erik's personality has already rubbed off on me. "How did you do that?" Raoul asks.

"I kicked a door," I reply cheerfully.

He bursts into laughter. "Lotte, really, I thought you were done with having fits."

"I was scared," I say in defense.

"Scared of what?"

I blush. "Of being alone. I was in the practice room and I felt scared. I remembered Papa's death, and I kind of hit my foot on the door when I ran out."

Raoul starts laughing again. "Lotte, there's no need to be afraid. You have Meg and I. That probably wasn't your best idea, was it?"

Smiling mildly, I try to hide how his comments stung me. I knew it had been childish. But, like Erik said, it wasn't a bad reason. Right?

"Anyway, you need to get back to Meg, right?" he asks, and I nod. "It'll take you a while, with all your shambling, so I guess I better get to it." He takes a breath and smiles. "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow, Chrissy, when the buses take everyone out to the city?"

"Of course," I say. That was all he wanted? "We always hang out. Meg can come and bring Hayden, if she wants."

"Alright," he says slowly, considering it. "But, tomorrow night, since the buses leave at different times, I was thinking that you might want to…hang out, just you and me?" he asks.

"Like…like a date?" I say, feeling somewhat stunned. This was to be expected, though. We always hang out, and Meg has been telling me Raoul likes me. And I like him.

"I was hoping so," Raoul says, his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. "What do you think, Lotte?"

"Yes," I say. "I would enjoy that a lot."

"Great." He breaks out in a grin. "Well, I guess you've got to go. I'll see you later, okay, Chrissy." He doesn't phrase it like a question, but I answer anyway.

"Alright," I reply as he takes off. "See you around, I guess."

With a sigh, I shamble, as Raoul so kindly put it, towards Meg's. I am panting by the time I get there, and look up from the bottom of a flight of stairs, wondering if Meg would just bring something down to me. Deciding on a firm, _"not in this lifetime,"_ I slowly hop my way up the stairs, using the railings to hold my weight.

"What happened to you?" asks Meg as I enter the apartment. She's sitting, ready for school, with her ankles crossed daintily, and milk from her cereal dribbling down her chin. She swipes it away with her arm.

"Use a napkin, dear," says Madame Giry, walking out from her bedroom. "Hello, Christine…oh my! What happened?"

I settle myself onto a chair opposite Meg and pour a bowl of cereal. "I jammed my toes."

"Doing what?"

"It was dark…I couldn't see where I was going…and, my foot, it just…hit the door." I had never been terribly good at lying, but I would assume that, after as many lies I've told lately, I should be able to tell a believable one.

"I assume you will not be participating with everyone else in class?" Madame Giry asks, her tone stern.

"No," I say, as I swirl the cereal around with my spoon. "I have a note to give you in class from the nurse."

"I hope you get better soon. I will expect you to perform what the rest of the class is doing when you are able." With that, she walks out of the room.

"So, what really happened?" asks Meg when the door clicks shut.

I groan. "Erik made me mad, so I kicked a door." I realize it is the closest I have come to telling someone the truth. The thought makes me ill with guilt.

Meg snorts with laughter. "No way!" Suddenly, she looks serious. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," I say with conviction. "He just doesn't like coming out of his lair to tell me where he is, and he seems to find it amusing to let me try to find him."

"Really?" Meg asks, looking surprised. "I think I might actually get along with this guy. But, why did you kick a door?"

"Because it was taking forever to look, and I knew that, wherever he was, he would be laughing at me," I grumble.

Meg laughs. "His Darkness-Ship has a sense of humour? I never would have guessed it!"

I roll my eyes and listen to her talk until it's time to leave. In the halls, Meg bids me goodbye, and continues to walk away, laughing, as I struggle with my stuff. Somehow, I manage to make it to class on time, and sit down at my desk as the bell rings.

A few people look at me pointedly, and I try to ignore them, pulling out a lined sheet of paper. I doodle in the margins until I feel someone's eyes on me. I look up and see Erik, who is giving me a concerned expression.

"It's fine," I mouth, talking about my foot. "Just sore."

He nods slowly. "Get better, ma chere." The voice appears out of nowhere, giving me a heart attack until I remember whose it is.

"How do you do that?"

"A magician never tells," says my binder.

I shriek, throwing my binder off my desk and unceremoniously falling onto the floor. I stare open mouthed at my binder as people laugh. Understanding washes through me, and I glare at Erik. He sits at his desk, his mouth parted in laughter which he tries to cover up with his hand.

"Miss Daaé, are you alright?" asks Mr. William, his mouth turned up in a small smirk.

"I'm fine," I mutter, continuing to shoot daggers at Erik with my eyes. Picking up both my binder and my chair, I sit down, pretending to focus on the words on the board. When the class settles down and gets to work, as well as any first period class can, Erik speaks again. Gladly, not through an inanimate object.

"Sorry to give you such a fright, ma belle," he says innocently. "I only forgot you were so skittish."

I scowl at his back until he looks over his shoulder. "We're not done yet," I mouth, and he gives me a wink.

After that, class passes as usual, with nothing to disturb the dull hum of Mr. William's voice. The doodles continue to grow, crawling around the sides of the page, until I have more pictures than words. If a picture equals a thousand words, I'm pretty sure I'd have all my essays for the next two years right there amongst my hastily scribbled, poorly written notes.

When the bell rings, the class empties in a record five seconds. Mr. William blinks at the sudden disappearance of his class, and then proceeds to slowly wipe the chalk off the board to write the next class' notes.

I limp into the hallway, eyeing the hoard of students moving every which way. With a surge of determination, I take a step out of the classroom, and am moved by the current of people down the hallways.

"Move!"

"Hurry up!"

People push past me, giving me dirty looks as they do. I want to chuck my backpack at them. Is it really my fault that I can't walk quickly at the moment? Okay, technically, it is, but it wasn't the objective to hurt my foot when I kicked the door.

At the seventh person who shoves me out of their way, I call out, "It wasn't my plan to break my foot, so please carry on with your day without shoving injured people around!"

"What was your goal, exactly? To take out your petty anger on a harmless door?" asks Erik, appearing beside me.

"Obviously, it wasn't harmless," I say, gesturing to my foot.

"I recall you saying your foot was fine. I don't qualify broken as fine."

"It's not broken, I just wanted them to feel bad," I say.

"Ah, I see," he says. He pretends to look around the halls, which are now mostly empty. "I don't believe it is working for you."

"No," I say sulkily.

"Come on, or we will be late," says Erik. He takes my backpack off me as I give him a strange look.

"We?" I ask.

"You'll never get to your class in time-dance, I presume?" He continues on without letting me answer. "Nevertheless, with this backpack on your shoulders. What do you keep in here, dear? A collection of boulders?"

"School stuff," I reply. Most of it. I only need two classes worth of belongings in it at a time, but I tend to keep all four, plus other things that I don't know where to put. It's very unorganized in comparison to my room. Though, my room is only organized because I don't have many belongings to fill it with.

"Very well, let's go," sighs Erik. "I will help you organize it at some time, Christine. It puts a lot of strain on your back to carry a heavy backpack around."

"Alright," I say, as we head to the dance room. "Wait, Erik, do you want your jacket back?" I had forgotten to take it off in class, it is really that comfortable.

"You can keep it, ma belle. I noticed you were wearing it in class," he says.

"You didn't say anything."

"I didn't want to point out that it was uncomfortably warm in the classroom. It looks adorable on you." He shoots me a quick look out of the corner of his eye. I know I am blushing. He smiles slightly.

"I forgot to bring a sweater this morning, and it was cold outside," I say, feeling the need to explain. "I put it in my backpack to give it to you, but I forgot until now. I'll give it to you at our lesson."

"Okay," agrees Erik.

A memory of this morning seems to crash into my head, and my happy expression turns to an anxious one. I can see this not going well at all.

"Is something wrong, mon ange?"

"Um…not really," I say, feeling incredibly nervous. "Just, um…Erik?"

"Yes, ma fleur?" He says, giving me a strange look.

"I won't be able to make our lesson tomorrow night," I say, dreading the words I have to say.

"Why?" he asks, strangely calm. Too calm.

I rub my palms against my jeans. Why didn't I want to tell him? Erik is my friend, he should be happy for me. But, I had a strong feeling he wouldn't be. "Tomorrow, we can take buses to the city. They run at different times, so you can stay for as long as you're allowed-"

"Yes, I've heard of this," Erik interjects impatiently.

"Well, I'm going with Meg, Hayden and Raoul tomorrow."

"And you could not come back early?" He asks.

"Um…Raoul asked me to dinner," I finally say.

"Oh, but of course. You should enjoy a dinner with your boy, for all your hard work," he says.

I look up at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes, of course," he hisses. "Where is your boy? He does not seem to be here helping you. Perhaps he is helping Carlotta spread more rumours-he does seem to enjoy them. Did he ask about your foot, Christine? What did he say when you told him? Quite concerned, I am guessing."

I glare at him, not saying anything. He is right. Raoul isn't here. But Raoul actually attends class. I don't know where Erik goes half of the time.

"No? That is quite a shock," he jeers, taking my silence as my answer. "Well, I do hope you have fun on your little excursion. It was nice of him to suggest going, walking around and such, when you obviously are having troubles with it. Silly me, he must have asked before you injured it, right?"

His words hurt me deeply, more so because they are true. Here is Erik, a friend I only met a week ago, and Raoul is nowhere to be seen. He barely even noticed I had injured it! And then he laughed at me! Erik hadn't laughed at me. He had made me feel like my stupid fear was normal. But it doesn't give him a right to make me feel bad now.

"Still, no? Oh, I did not know you held yourself to such low standards."

"You would know," I retort.

"Excuse me?" He growls.

"You walk around here acting like you don't care about anybody else on this earth, like you're better than everybody else! But, inside, I know you just want to be accepted! You're just too arrogant to see it," I snap, surprising both Erik and myself. The surprise at my sudden gaining of a spine dissolves as we glare silently at each other until we are interrupted.

"Could I help you two?" Madame Giry asks. I hadn't noticed we were standing right in front of the dance room door.

"No, thank you. Miss Daaé appeared to need some assistance, and, seeing there was no one else around," says Erik, giving me a look at the last part, to which I crossed my arms and looked the other way, "I offered my support."

"Thank you, Erik," says Madame Giry. "Wait here one moment, I will write you a note."

She leaves Erik and I standing outside the door in silence. I don't know what to say to him. He doesn't have an excuse to be angry, and his words hurt so badly. I want to cry, but I wouldn't dare do it where anyone, most of all him, can see.

"Here you are, Erik," says Madame Giry, returning to the door. "Now, come inside, Christine." She disappears inside the classroom to lead the stretches.

"Thank you, Erik," I say, biting back tears.

"You're welcome, mademoiselle," he says venomously. "I do expect you for our lesson tonight, unless, of course, you have already made plans?"

"No," I say.

"Good. I expect you _on time_, Christine," he says.

"I know," I say, harshly.

"Have a good day." He turns on his heel and leaves.

I wipe away a tear that slides down my cheek, and compose myself before entering the ballet class, where I spend the period wanting to kick something again, and wanting Erik to be there offering a sarcastic remark when I do.

Finally, _finally_, class ends, and I hurry as best as I can to get to my room, where I can properly break down in tears that I had been holding back all class. With my foot, hurrying gets me just outside the doors after ten minutes of being jostled by careless students. Suddenly, there is a loss of weight on my back and my backpack straps slide down my arms.

"Hey," I say, irritably.

"I am merely offering my assistance, Christine," says Erik, coldly.

I wonder why he is helping me again, when he so obviously would rather hit me over the head with my back pack. No longer having the fight in me that I did before, I trudge along behind him.

"You're remarkably slow, Christine," he says.

I pick up my pace.

"The silent treatment?" he asks, bitterly. "Two can play at that game. In fact, I was rewarded by my mother for not talking when I was child. Well, not rewarded, of course, but I was not beaten, which I considered a reward."

My eyes shoot to his, which remain looking frozen ahead.

Erik was beaten as a child? How did I not know this? How could someone possibly beat their child? How terrible! No wonder he flinches at contact! What else has he been put through? To think I considered myself a friend of Erik's when I didn't even know this important part of his past! It makes me want to cry, as I imagine a small, younger version of Erik, being harmed. Poor Erik!

"What are you making that face for?"

"What?" I ask, looking up, rubbing a stray tear from my cheek.

"Are you…crying?" His stony expression softens for a moment.

"It's so terrible! I can't imagine how a mother could do that to her child," I say. All this time, I've been suffering from a loss from years ago, and he has likely been dealing with being harmed by his own mother!

"Quite easily," he says. "There are your hands, whips, belts, really any object can be used as a missile-"

"Stop."

"What?" he says, giving me a cruel smile.

"I said stop," I say.

"Is it too much for the perfect Christine to bear?" he asks, maliciously. "Can you not handle the idea that outside of your little world, there is one that is horrible? You do not want to feel the need to pity the monster?"

"You're not a monster, Erik," I say, feeling scared of this side I've never seen of him.

He laughs coolly. "Christine, naïve, innocent, Christine," he says. His voice is warmer, and has detectable raw emotion in it when he speaks again. "You just do not want to see what is truly there in front of you."

I shake my head. "You're wrong."

"Go upstairs. Put your things away, then come back down," he says emotionlessly.

Confused and slightly frightened, I hurry into the dorm and up the stairs. I move as quickly as I can, and when I come back down, Erik is waiting outside the doors.

"Where are we going?" I ask as he starts walking.

"I am not your babysitter," he retorts. "You can go where ever you may please."

For some reason, I follow him. "Where do you go at lunch? I never see you."

"I would not spend my time amongst everyone else in the dining hall, Christine."

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because, as I'm sure you know very well by now, I am not like everyone else, therefore, I am not welcomed."

"So?"

"Why, yes, Christine, I will just go sit down at my own table and eat my lunch, pretending like nobody is staring at me, and that no one thinks they will contract the Black Plague by breathing the same air I do."

"Oh."

"Look, there is your boy," Erik says, saying it like it is a disease. I look over in the same direction and see Raoul, Meg, and Hayden, standing outside the dining hall. They suddenly look over at us. "Oh, wonderful, your entourage is accompanying him. Now, as you obviously have people you'd rather be with-who are giving you amusedly puzzled looks-I will take leave of you."

Erik leaves before I can say a word, and I limp over to my friends, who are watching me with curious expressions.

"Who was that?" asks Hayden.

"Erik," I say indifferently.

"Why were you with him?" asks Raoul.

I look at Meg and she lifts her eyebrows.

"Miss Meyer wanted me and Erik to come up with a warm up that will satisfy Carlotta," I say. The lies keep becoming easier and easier, rolling off my tongue naturally.

"Oh boy," says Meg. I'm pretty sure she knows I'm lying, but I won't be the one to point it out.

"Yeah. It's a lot of fun," I say. "Anyway, let's go for lunch."

At our table, we talk about tomorrow. For me, this subject is just as uncomfortable.

"You guys are coming, right?" I ask Meg and Hayden.

"Obviously," she says. They aren't dating yet, but, judging by how exuberant she was when talking about him last night, I know it won't take long. "We can't leave you guys alone, or some might consider it a date." Meg winks at me.

"Actually," says Raoul, grinning, "Christine and I will be having dinner, just the two of us, tomorrow night."

"What, really?" asks Meg. "Why didn't I know this?"

"It happened this morning," I reply nervously. Its nerves, I tell myself. I've never been on a date before, so of course I'd be nervous.

"Still," grumbles Meg. Then, she breaks into a smile. "Aw, I'm so happy for you guys! I knew it was going to happen since the party. I knew it!"

Raoul smiles and I laugh uneasily. Hopefully, I won't be as nervous tomorrow, or I'll never get through the dinner alone with Raoul.

_Just remember, Christine, _I remind myself. _He is your oldest friend. Just act like its old times. _

There were countless hours Raoul and I had spent together alone as children, so I can easily and happily get through three.

0000000000

In vocal class, there are a few people there before me. I tried to get here early, but my limp slows me down a lot. When I come up to the door, I look at Erik playing the piano. He doesn't notice me entering the room. Pushing a pang of hurt to the back of my head, I sit down at my chair, take out my music folder, and shove my bag under my chair.

I want to sit down beside Erik, but I know I can't. Feeling very lonely, I look over my music, humming it quietly to myself. I'm not focusing well at all. Instead, I'm thinking about how empty I feel, knowing that Erik is angry with me. Really, he's the only one I talk to, lately. Meg has been so busy with her practices, and Raoul is nice and funny, but he doesn't always listen when I have something important to say. It makes him uncomfortable when things get serious and emotional. Hopefully, tomorrow I'll see Raoul as I did when I was a little girl.

I don't focus well at all. Often I am too sharp on a note, or way too flat, and sometimes I don't even notice when we stop or start. Carlotta got her jabs in every time I mess up, making my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

No matter how many times I look at Erik during class, he never looks back. And though it tears at me every time, I continue doing it, hoping that, maybe, he might look back. I don't like fighting with Erik. I just want things to be the way they were, but I also want him to feel sorry for what he said to me. He had no right!

At the end of class, I move slowly, hoping Erik will help me with my stuff. Maybe then I can actually talk to him. But, as he's turning around on the piano bench, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I jump and spin around.

"Woah, there," says Raoul, catching me around the waist as I lose my balance. "I didn't mean to surprise you," he says with a laugh.

I laugh with him. "I've heard I'm pretty skittish, so don't think about it."

"Trust me, Lotte, I know. Remember, the cemetery?"

I shiver at the memory. "Yeah, believe me. I will never forget that for as long as I live."

When we were about eight years old, we decided it would be a good idea to go to the graveyard at ten o'clock at night, when there was fog everywhere. Needless to say, it was the most terrifying experience of my life, and, for that reason alone, Papa didn't punish me. Unlike Raoul, who was grounded for a week.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Just felt like coming to see you," he says with a shrug, like it's no big idea.

"Thanks," I say, smiling.

"Grab your bag and let's go," he says. "We don't want to be late, hobble foot."

"Oh, okay," I say, grabbing my backpack and slinging it over my shoulder. As we leave the room, I look back to the piano bench. Erik is gone.

Raoul and I walk to drama class, talking about what we are going to do tomorrow. I explain what kind of things are in the city. It isn't that big, but, after being stuck at school, it's like being on vacation.

In drama class, Meg, Raoul, Hayden, and I, all sit together at the back, all planning our day. It was like telling four eight year olds they were going to Disney World. Everything is discussed. The bus ride-Meg and I will sit together on the way there, because, on the way back, I will be with Raoul; what we are going to do when we get there-obviously, at some point, Meg will need to take me shopping, because, no offense to Raoul and Hayden, but they probably won't make the best shopping partners. No offense was taken by either boy.

By the time class is done, I feel like I just planned out the rest of my life. I left most of it to Meg, as did Hayden and Raoul. She is having way too much fun with this, and none of us are willing to challenge her. Luckily, she has ballet, so her organizing is cut short. Hayden, Raoul, and I go to the games room to relax, as Raoul insisted upon. Apparently, everyone else had the same idea, and it is very crowded inside, with people talking, playing board games, playing foosball, watching TV, and the few people in the corner working on homework.

"See, Lotte, aren't you glad you decided not to work?" Raoul asks.

I'm not completely sure about what he's talking about, as we haven't actually done anything except watch a bit of TV, which I almost never do, but I decide to humour him. "Of course, Raoul, how lucky I am to have you."

"That you are," he says with a smile. He looks over his shoulder at the other side of the room. "Hey, let's play some foosball."

Hayden is just as into the idea as Raoul is, and both hop over the back of the couch and race to the foosball table. Slowly, I get up and follow them.

"Is it so hard to walk around the furniture?" I ask. The boys are too busy to answer, immediately getting into the game. I join Raoul's team, and find that, over the course of the evening, I really do relax. An hour later, as Hayden leaves to walk Meg back to her apartment, Raoul puts his arm around my shoulder and tucks my hair behind my ear.

"Isn't this fun, Christine?"

"Sure is," I say, really smiling.

00000000000

**So, I kind of forgot to write all my review responses here before posting :/ I was so excited to get it up, so I'll do them now. For something different this chapter, I'll review to people with a PM, and those who I cannot message I'll respond here. I hope you guys liked this chapter and aren't too mad at Christine and Erik :)**

**LillySmith: Yes, I agree, but Christine didn't know anything about him. She knows a bit more, so I think she'll see that, in comparison, she has it lucky. Thanks for reviewing!  
**

**Oliviaxxx: Thanks!  
**

**Newbornphanatic: Haha that's alright :) I 3 Erik too, he can just be so cute! Thank you for reviewing!  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry for the late update and for the bad grammar in this chapter. My beta is MIA, so I may have to let Erik out of the basement to go find her. Anyway, as always, your reviews are the world to me and always make me smile. I hope you guys like this chapter even with its minor errors! **

Chapter 10

That night, I walk to the practice rooms, the smile I had on my face while with Raoul fading quickly, feeling worried and hurt, but, most of all, determined to show Erik I'm not going to let his words get to me like he wanted. What was that thing about sticks and stones? His words won't hurt me, and I'm pretty sure he won't physically hurt me. Though, after that morning, I wasn't completely sure.

I expect to have to look for Erik again, but, when I open the door to the hall, I come face to face with a grim looking Erik. I jump backwards in surprise, but he doesn't flinch.

"You are on time," he says with an unreadable expression.

I want to retort that, if I didn't arrive on time, he'd probably track me down. I make the wise decision of not saying anything.

Quietly, I follow him to a room where, inside, there are stacks of his music. I wonder why he never uses the same room, but I remember he likes something about the 'mystery'. I only think it's a nuisance for him to have to switch all the time and carry his music around everywhere.

There is no chitchat as he sits down at the piano. We start with scales, and I try to speak between every round, but Erik interrupts me by playing louder, or snaps that I am straining my voice, or failing to focus. I give up and wait until we have finished all of them, which seems to take much longer than usual. I probably did them for an hour or more. Knowing him, he is probably trying to work me until I am exhausted.

"Erik," I say, when he starts sifting through his sheet music.

"You have been straining your voice. It would be best if you did not talk at all," he says.

I clench my teeth. "No, Erik, we need-"

"What you need is to stop telling me what to do," he says. "You should be grateful after all I've helped you with!"

"We've only had about three lessons," I point out.

His eyes flash. "Is that all it is, then? Would you prefer if we stopped, if you went back to wishing you were as good as that horrid, screeching bird, Carlotta?"

I already couldn't imagine not having lessons. "No, but-"

"Then you will not bring it up again."

"But you shouldn't have said those things!" I shout.

"Me?" he says incredulously. "You lied to me! You ran off with the stupid boy as soon as you could!"

"I'm not running off anywhere with Raoul, and I never lied to you!"

"No?" he says, anger radiating off him. He stands up, and I do too, but he is still a foot or more taller. The top of my head only reaches his chest.

"No! I didn't tell you anything untrue! I told you I wouldn't be able to make our lesson tomorrow! I was trying to be responsible!"

"Oh, responsible, are you, Christine? Trying to finally grow up, are you?"

Tears sting my eyes. "That's awful! Why are you so mean?"

"Maybe you should ask the people who beat me? Maybe the scars they gave me went to my head! Or, you could ask my mother! She was quite the wicked woman, but, of course, I still loved her. That's always the way it is, no?"

I don't understand, and just watch in horror as he shouts.

"You care about someone, and all they do is hurt you! Refuse to even look at me because I am so hideous! I haven't touched someone in my entire life, except for when pain is being inflicted!"

My hand covers my gaping mouth as tears spill down my cheeks. My poor, poor Erik! Never being touched? Never being looked at? I couldn't imagine it! And now, he is so angry, looming over me, his eyes burning…

"That is how life is, Christine!"

"It doesn't have to be," I say quietly, mustering as much courage as I can with him practically leaning over me.

He barks a malicious laugh. "For someone like me it is, Christine. But I do not want your pity," he says with a sneer, shooting me a look. I hurriedly wipe my tears away. "I should not fill your head with such horrible stories, even if they are true."

"I'm not an airhead," I say, annoyed.

"Of course not, Christine," he says, calming down enough to sit down on the piano bench. "You are innocent. You need someone to look after you, to keep you away from silly boys who will only play with your heart until they get bored."

"Raoul is not just a silly boy. He was my best friend when we were little. He would come over, and Papa would tell us stories," I say.

"When you were young, and no less innocent than you are now," says Erik.

I feel like pulling my hair out in frustration! "What do you have against Raoul? He has done nothing-"

"Do not defend that boy!" He yells, leaping to his feet again. "Do not dare to defend him! It is I, the ugly monster, who stopped your classmates' rumours about you that your boy started! It is always boys like him who get all they want, even simple things like an attractive face that I have always wished to have! That wretched boy has everything, and doesn't care and never will! He has taken everything from me!"

"Everything?" I ask, confused. "What do you-"

"Leave," he whispers darkly.

"Pardon?"

"Go now!" he roars.

"But, Erik?" I say hoarsely, tears pouring down my flushed cheeks.

"Leave! Go to your boy!" He throws a book at the wall, hundreds of pages of music going everywhere. "Go now and leave me!"

Terrified, I jump up and run out of the room without a word. It reminds me of last time, when I ran from my fear. But this time, my fear wasn't inside my head, and there wouldn't be anyone waiting to comfort me. I don't stop running, even as my foot is throbbing excruciatingly, until I get to my own room. I slam the door behind me, breathing heavily, tears and sweat dripping down my face. My foot feels like it is on fire. I turn to face the inside of the room.

Carlotta looks at me from her bed where she is painting her toenails flamingo pink. Her expression says that I look as crazy as I feel. I can feel myself literally shaking as I try to nonchalantly pull my clothes out of my dresser. Carlotta, surprisingly, says nothing. I leave the room, and, when I come back, I am still having trouble keeping my hands from trembling. Simple acts like taking a shower and brushing my teeth calm me slightly, and keep my mind from registering what happened.

I slip into bed, trying to keep the tremors away, and turn off my bedside lamp. I don't want to close my eyes. Carlotta's light is still on. She is putting the last curler in her hair. They are all either pink or orange. I wonder why she likes the two colours so much. They clash, but I guess they make her stand out, which seems to be her goal in life.

Only simple thoughts enter my brain, like what might be served for lunch tomorrow, or if it will be warm enough to not have to carry around a sweater all day. I won't let myself think of other things. I won't let myself think. I can't think.

Carlotta sees me staring, and gives me a weird look, then shrugs. She decided I was a freak when she met me. There will be some new rumours tomorrow, if she's not texting her friends now.

_Erik stopped her other rumours_, says a voice in my head, recalling his angry words. _He did that for you. _

I close my eyes tight, wanting the voice, the memory, to go away. Instead, I see Erik looming above me, recalling his terrible childhood, telling me to grow up, throwing a book at the wall and roaring at me to leave.

I open my eyes and stare at the wall.

Carlotta flicks off her light, and it is pitch dark. The blinds are shut because Carlotta does not like to wake with the sun, "like farmers," she said when I brought it up.

"Goodnight," I murmur. There is no response. I don't know why I said it. I haven't said goodnight in so long.

It is a long time before I fall asleep. My eyes begin to droop, and I can't fight them. Fate must be pitying me, because I don't dream of Erik that night. I don't dream of Papa. I don't dream at all. I don't feel at all. I want to feel this nothing when I'm awake, too.

00000000000

As Meg and I climb onto the bus, she chatters away about what we are going to do in town, and doesn't stop to take a breath, even when we sit down in a seat at the back. I watch Raoul and Hayden take the seat next to us, and flash them a smile, with Meg jabbering on happily beside me.

"So, what do you think, Chris?" Meg asks.

"Sounds great, Meg," I say.

"You have no idea what I was talking about, do you?" she huffs.

"Nope, not a clue," I say, giving her a sympathetic grin.

She rolls her eyes. "You were probably making googly eyes at Raoul."

"I was not!"

"Alright, sure you weren't," she says with a wink. "Anyway, I was saying we should probably get the shopping done first, the shops will be crowded later on, and it fits into our schedule much better this way."

"Schedule?" I groan. Of course, I should have seen that one coming. She has always been the one to make decisions, and the way she was planning our whole trip in drama class yesterday, I should have suspected it. "Please don't tell me you actually wrote out a schedule."

"No, silly," she giggles. "It's all up here," she taps the side of her head.

"Great," I say and she laughs.

"Don't worry, it will be fun. And you have your date with Raoul to look forward to!"

"Shhh," I say, looking around. The boys were playing with something on their phones. I roll my eyes. Typical.

"What, why?" she asks, giving me a confused look. "You can't possibly be embarrassed about dating _Raoul_? He's like, the most popular guy in school!"

I look at the boys to make sure they aren't listening. Still engrossed in their game. "I'm not embarrassed about him, I'm embarrassed _for_ him," I say. Taking another look around, I ensure that there isn't a black hat visible above the seats, a leather glove tightening in a fist, a swarm of black that everyone is trying to avoid. Did I really think he would come? He won't even enter the dining hall, so why would he get on a crowded bus to go to town where even more people will gawk at him? Lately, it's seemed like he's everywhere, like a shadow or a phantom. Sometimes, it's like he's even inside my head...

"Oh gosh, Chrissy! I swear, I thought he'd help you with your self-esteem! Honestly, why would you even think that he would be embarrassed-Hey, what's wrong?" she asks, her annoyed expression turning to one of worry.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my throat dry. _Don't think, don't remember, don't feel, and you'll be just fine. _

"You look kind of pale…do you think you're coming down with something?"

"No, I'm fine," I say, with a smile I'm sure looks even more fake than it feels. _Don't think, don't remember, don't feel. _I try to keep my face expressionless. "My foot just hurts a little. Nothing big." It isn't a complete lie. Yesterday, after my unplanned run of terror, my foot has been feeling as if all the bones inside are broken. I am sure I only aggravated the bruising, and I didn't want to ruin everyone else's fun. Besides, if we stay at the school, I have a much larger chance of running into someone who I would rather not see.

"It's not anything serious?" Meg asks.

"No, unless you count kicking a door being a sign of serious stupidity," I say. _Don't remember, don't feel. _

She grins. "It's alright, I always knew you were crazy, it's why we're friends."

I force myself to laugh.

"You know, Chrissy, we've only been here a week, if that, but you seem a lot happier since you've been with Raoul, and then you started voice lessons, and…it's like you've changed. But it's good. It's nice to see you, finally, _truly _happy.

_Don't feel, don't feel, don't feel. _"Yeah, they're great. I feel closer to my father when I sing, and actually sounding good helps." Tears threaten at the back of my eyes. _Don't feel, don't feel, don't feel. _

Meg laughs, unaware of the chaos going on inside my head. "You were always good, Chris, but I bet you sound unbelievable. Erik is strange, but from what you and Mama have said, he's an amazing musician. I'd like to hear him sometime.

I dig my nails into my palm. _Erik, Erik, don't remember, don't feel, don't think, Erik. _Then Meg's words register. "Wait, you called him Erik…you want to hear him?" The words are strange and hollow.

"Yeah, I mean, he's done so much for you." She lowers her voice. "Plus, I've got to meet with the guy who steals my best friend away every night."

"You make it sound bad," I say with a frown.

"I'm just joking, Chris. If he was that guy who sang for you at the party, I wouldn't mind spending time with him, whether he looks like a criminal in hiding or not."

"Meg," say, elbowing her in the ribs.

"But seriously," she says with a smile. "I'd like to meet him, he sounds pretty cool. You'll have to introduce me sometime."

I give her a true smile and try to hold back the tears. _Don't feel. _"I would love to, Meg, but it might take a while to get him to agree. He's…shy."

She gives me a dubious look. "We're both talking about Mister tall, dark, and intimidating, right?"

"So maybe shy isn't the right word," I say. "He doesn't really like people."

Meg laughs. "Um, Chris, everyone at school knows that!"

"Not the same way I do," I mutter. _Don't remember. _Then, louder, I say, "Someday, maybe." In a perfect world, Erik and I would be friends, close friends, even. In that world, I would love to see Meg and Erik meet, though, I'm not sure how Meg's bluntness would fare against Erik's temper.

_He's angry at you. He doesn't want to talk to you._

Would I even have singing lessons now? Do I even want to go anymore? I shouldn't want to, I should be terrified. If I was a normal person, I would have gone straight to a teacher, or the principal. Maybe that's what he expected. Maybe I should have. But I didn't want to. I still don't want to. And, frankly, as much as I wish I could say it doesn't bother me if I never see him again, I still want to have lessons with him. I want things to go back to normal. But I'm not sure if they can.

"Fine. Keep the musical genius to yourself, but I'm not the one who's going to explain the situation to Raoul when he finds out, and you know he will," says Meg teasingly.

That's one thing I won't have to worry about if Erik never wants to see me again. He won't have to know its Erik giving me lessons, or Erik that sang for me, Erik that gave me the rose and the letter. I smile, remembering both. From anybody else, it would have been creepy. From Erik, it was the sweetest gesture I have ever gotten, or will ever get.

"Now, I was thinking we could go to that shop, you know, the one with the dresses in the windows?" Meg begins to tell me her schedule, and I look out the window. The school is long gone, but I can still see someone there, pounding away at the piano, the room a mess of music, a black mask covering the torture going on within.

When the bus stops on Main Street, we all climb out, some students looking terribly bored from the hour long ride. Meg and I are the last ones off, and she spots Raoul and Hayden in the midst of the crowd, still playing whatever game they were absorbed with on the bus.

"Really?" I say when I see them, and Meg laughs.

"Oh, Chris, they're just boys. It's what they do."

I could think of many activities to spend your time doing that are much better than stupid games, but I don't say anything. Raoul and Hayden put away their phones as we approach them.

"What's the score?" asks Meg.

"102, 500 points for me, and 130, 692 for him," answers Hayden, looking a bit bashful.

Meg giggles. "It's still better than my 10, 040."

I look at her in disbelief. "Meg, you play it too?"

She nods. "You should ask Raoul to show you, it's actually fun."

"Raoul's a pro at it," adds Hayden.

I'm not sure if I am supposed to be happy my boyfriend is apparently some champion video game player, so I just smile at Raoul and say, "Some other time, maybe."

He grins. "So, what are we doing?"

Meg skips over to me and links her arm through mine. "We are going shopping. You boys can meet us in two hours at that café over there, okay?"

"Two hours?" I say in surprise. How can someone shop for _two hours_?

"What are we supposed to do for two hours?" asks Raoul.

Meg shrugs. "I don't know. C'mon, Christine." Meg starts walking down the sidewalk and I follow her, sending a despairing look to Hayden and Raoul.

The first shop we come across, the one with dresses in the front windows that Meg was talking about on the bus, is apparently where Meg bought the dresses we had worn to the dance. Instantly, Meg is seizing clothes off hangers, mainly skirts and dresses, I notice, and draping them over her arm or shoving them at me. In less than ten minutes our arms are full of clothes, and a store attendant is opening two dressing rooms for us. Meg reminds me that I have to show her everything I try on, no matter how bad I think it looks.

I pull a blue dress over my head, trying not to grumble as I do up the back. I do like dresses and other girly things, but it makes me feel uncomfortable to wear them, like I am some sort of over-sized Barbie doll.

Without looking in a mirror, because that would definitely make me not want to step out of the dressing room, I unlock the door and wait for Meg to finish. She steps out in a long black skirt and red blouse. They accentuate her curves and bring out an auburn tint in her hair.

Meg looks up and smiles smugly. "I did it again," she says.

Not knowing what she is talking about, I look into the mirror, and smile. How does Meg know what makes me look good, and, even more difficult than that challenge, what I like? It isn't a fancy dress she chose, but the light blue makes my hair seem blonder, and my cheeks pinker. The hem swishes just above my knees, making me look taller than I am, and the tight waist brings attention to my almost non-existent figure.

"You're welcome," says Meg.

"Thanks, Meggy," I say, teasingly. "You're too self-satisfied for your own good."

"Just wait to see what else I've picked out for you!" Then she disappears back inside her dressing room. "Just remember to show me! I'll drag you out if I need to!"

I look at the mound of clothes. Knowing Meg, she would do that, so I close the door and sift through, looking for the most comfortable looking articles of clothing I can find.

Over the next two hours, and, yes, one store took us two full hours, I find that I like most of the things Meg chose, and even buy a few of them. I was growing out of my old clothing, anyway. Of course, there were one or two things that ended up on the counter that I didn't remember choosing, but with one look from Meg, I decided I might as well get them and not cause a scene.

Lots of clothing, jewelry, makeup, and a new pair of shoes fill up my three bags as we walk from the store. Meg tells me she has ideas for how I can match things up with the clothes I already have, and what I can borrow from her. I have a feeling that I just became her life-size dress-up doll.

Raoul and Hayden are waiting outside the café when we arrive, and shake their head as they see Meg, carrying four bags, and me with three.

"The shopping went well, I guess?" asks Hayden, taking two bags from Meg.

"Really well, I picked out a bunch of things for Christine! Hey! I can carry it myself!" she says as Hayden, being a gentleman, attempts to take the other bags from her.

"She's possessive of her clothing," I joke. "Step away now, or you might end up like me." I tap my foot on the ground. From all the walking we've done, the sharp pain has turned to a numb one that I've been able to ignore.

"You try to be helpful," sighs Hayden.

"It was worth the shot," I say, patting his shoulder, laughing.

Meg and Hayden lead the way inside to a table, and Raoul and I take the back. He slips the bags from my hands, and I let him, with a small smile of appreciation.

"You won't fight me like, Meg?" he asks with pretend disappointment.

"Maybe later. Besides, it wouldn't be fair. Even crippled I could take you, and that would just be embarrassing," I giggle.

"You do look very tough," he agrees solemnly. "100 pounds of pure muscle."

"That sounds right."

We sit down at a table in front of a large window, and the sun shines warmly on my back. It feels nice finally being able to sit down and relax. Now that I am thinking about it, my foot is starting to throb painfully. I should have brought my painkillers. There's no sense in complaining about it now.

"So you were happy with what you got?" Raoul asks me.

"Yeah, Meg picked it all out. There are some things that mysteriously ended up on the receipt that I don't remember choosing, but I think Meg would pay for them herself, and have them appear in my room later," I say, rolling my eyes.

"I can't wait to see them," says Raoul, making me blush uncomfortably.

"They're really not me. At all."

"I bet they will look great," he says, giving me a smile that sends my heart beating faster than normal.

"I'm starving," says Meg. "After we eat, we can walk around, go to the park, look in some more stores, or go to the movies."

"I thought you had this all planned out?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I got bored of my schedule. Plus, there are so many things to do, and Hayden and I are heading back to school in about three hours."

"Well, let's not waste any more time," I say. We all agree and order a lunch of hamburgers and fries. After, we decide to go for a walk in a nearby park, and end up acting like children, climbing on the playground and playing games like grounders and man-hunt. Sure, the parents and small children there gave us strange looks, but I don't remember a time I had this much fun, acting so ridiculous.

Soon enough, it gets dark out, and Meg and Hayden head back to the bus.

"Hayden will take your bags, Christine, you don't want to be carrying them around all night," says Meg, taking them from me and shoving them into Hayden's hands.

"Why me?" he asks, though I can tell he doesn't mind.

"You wanted to be helpful before, you can be helpful now," she says.

"You don't want to miss the bus, guys," I say, interrupting their playful argument. There are butterflies in my stomach. Part of me wants them to leave so I can be with Raoul, and the rest of me wants to grab them by the hands and make sure I am not left alone.

"Okay, we're going," says Meg with a smile. She leans toward me to whisper, "But, Christine, you will tell me everything. _Everything_." With a wicked smile, she climbs onto the bus with Hayden and their many bags in tow. "See you tonight!"

I watch the bus pull away, leaving me and Raoul standing alone on the sidewalk. Together. Alone.

I am going to be sick.

"So, I was thinking, Lotte, we could see a movie if you want, then go get something to eat?" says Raoul, perfectly at ease while I am close to hyperventilating.

_Calm down, Christine. You've been alone with Raoul plenty of times. There's no reason to be nervous._ "Sure, lead the way," I say.

Raoul grins, and we walk towards the movie theater, laughing at Meg's bossiness and Hayden's will to comply. By the time we get there, I am feeling much more relaxed and at ease. That is until we enter the darkened screening room. We had chosen a cheesy rom-com that was supposed to be really good. The only other movies playing are a child's film about a talking frog, and a few horror films that are extremely graphic, one or two even in 3D. Personally, I don't really enjoy horror movies. I think they are gross and disturbing, but I will watch psychological dramas and movies that are just scary, not gory. However, that doesn't mean I won't be terrified for weeks after.

We sit in seats near the back of the theatre. There aren't too many other people, as the movie has been out for a while. When the lights dim, I feel some of my nerves come back, but Raoul quietly makes fun of the commercials, making me laugh, and we loudly try to guess the answers to the mini-quizzes playing on the screen. I'm not into much popular media, though, Meg makes sure I know the basics, so I never got any, but I still enjoy it. The few other people in the room joined in with our loud guessing; making it like a large, fun competition.

Everyone quiets down when the movie begins. It isn't too bad a film, but I spend most of it thinking about the boy next to me. It almost makes me laugh when he pulls the yawn, stretch, and put his arm around my shoulders move at the same time as the male actor on screen did. From Raoul's wink, I guess that he did it on purpose, and that really does make me laugh. Unlike the girl on screen, I don't push him away. It feels very nice, leaning into his side, his arm draped over my shoulders.

When it ends, I don't feel like I have missed much of the movie, even if I can't remember a single thing that happened. And when Raoul asks if I liked it as we leave the theatre, I mumble something about its heartwarming ending, which I had read in a review, and Raoul laughs, saying it was "Okay, for a chick-flick."

It is cold outside, and once again, I had forgotten to bring a sweater with me. I hug my arms to my chest, fighting the chilling breeze. Raoul sees me and chuckles.

"I think if you had a tragic flaw, forgetting your coat would be it," he says, taking off his own leather jacket.

"I didn't realize I was a character in a tragedy," I say, shivering. Looking on the bright side, my foot is too cold to feel the throbbing I know I will feel once it heats up. Taking Raoul's jacket with a "Thank you", I zip it on. It blocks the wind, but the leather almost makes me colder than I was before. It's uncomfortable, stiff, and smells of a very strong cologne, but I don't want to hurt his feelings, so I just smile and try to keep my shivering to a minimum. As the wind blows harder, I find myself wishing for Erik's jacket. It is warm, comfy, and it smells like him and not like disgusting, overpriced cologne…

I was so close to not thinking of him most of the day. I am actually having fun! I still can't bear to think of what happened. Fear and hurt, and what made me angry, _guilt_, filled me whenever I think of it. _Don't think, don't feel, don't remember,_ I tell myself, using my mantra.

"Let's go here, Lotte," says Raoul, walking into a restaurant without waiting for my response. Inside it is warm and everything smells delicious. I pull off the horrid jacket and fold it over in my arms. There aren't too many people, and, very quickly, we are escorted to an empty table.

I hand Raoul the jacket, but he won't take it and says, "Hold on to it, Lotte. You'll need it when we go back to the bus." He grins. "And it looks hot on you."

I try not to grimace. Unlike many other girls in my class, being called "hot" is not high on my list of compliments. Actually, it might even be below insults. There's just something about it that is demeaning and aggravating about it. What's wrong with calling someone beautiful, pretty, adorable, or any other words? It's still a compliment, so I remind myself to smile graciously.

When we order our food, the conversation turns to Raoul and his family. I already know his parents and older siblings from when we were little, and find myself missing them.

"How is Phillipe?" I ask. "And everyone else? I forgot how many brothers and sisters you have."

Raoul smiles, and tells me about Phillipe, learning to take over the business at the young age of 24, and Georgette, being only 21, is studying business at a university in Los Angeles, staying close to home. Alexandre, having turned 19 a few months ago, is modeling in New York City. Violette is in her last year of high school and, unlike the rest of the family, she would simply like to open a small bakery.

"They sound like they are doing well," I say, smiling.

Raoul nods. "They're all happy with what they're doing. Mom and Dad are in Italy right now for their anniversary."

I remember Raoul's parents, Rupert and Nicolette de Chagny, also known as the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny. Yes, they are practically royalty, but out of Raoul's friends, I think I am the only one who knows. Personally, I've never really thought much about it. I've known the family since I was young, and, yes, I was impressed by their large houses and expensive outfits, but the family was so nice, it hardly mattered that they were wealthy. I always felt like a part of the family, and I remember Georgette and Violette stealing me away to play dress-up, and, after I was looking like a proper ball gown-wearing opera singer, they'd all sit down on the couch in the grand hall and make me perform. I loved it, of course. They were like my own family, and Papa was always welcome, too.

"That sounds like so much fun," I say. "I remember they love to travel."

"All the time," says Raoul. His parents were always travelling, even when Raoul was little. This might make some children bitter, but I don't think the kids had many nannies, as a relative would come down to take care of them until Phillipe and Georgette were old enough to take care of the rest. And their parents really did love them, playing with them often and bringing back presents. I would get one, as well.

"You and Phillipe are getting along, are you?" I ask, hearing how his voice had tensed when he spoke about his eldest brother.

"We do," says Raoul with a sigh. "But, you know, I've always wanted to run the businesses."

I nod. "We'd pretend to own many different shops, and you'd organize the profits and everything. Mainly, I just sat and waited until you decided you were taking me on a vacation to the pool in the backyard, or the stables," I say with a laugh.

Raoul laughs too. "Exactly. I've always wanted to do it, but, because Phillipe is the eldest…"

"He's the one who gets all of it," I finish.

"Yes. I understand it, but I don't like it. Georgette wants to run businesses too, except she wants to come up with her own. I want a fair share of the business, and I won't get it, since I'm the youngest."

"That doesn't sound very fair," I agree with a frown. Raoul deserves an equal chance to run it. They call it "the family business" for a reason, right?

"But, I guess, life isn't fair," he says.

In that sentence, Raoul comes awfully close to sounding like another gloomy, but passionate person I know.

I reach across the table and take Raoul's hand. "Have you spoken with your father about this?"

He nods. "I have, once or twice, but he just brushes it aside, like I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Maybe you could speak with Phillipe," I suggest. "If he's going to get the business, maybe he wouldn't mind sharing it with you. As they say, two is better than one."

Raoul smiles, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, maybe I could try that."

"If worse comes to worse, when Phillipe is away, you could look after part of the business and prove how capable you are. Go to university, maybe start a business of your own, invest in one, and see where it takes you."

He squeezes my hand. "Thanks, Christine, you always know what to say."

I strongly disagree, but I smile back at him anyways. We finish up the rest of our meal, and Raoul pays the bill. I tried to help pay, but he said he was not only paying for the food, but my presence and great advice. Of course, this just made me blush. I slip on the jacket, and we walk outside to where the bus is waiting. As we climb on and sit down near the front, I feel very tired. I know it's from all the walking I've done, and the throbbing of my foot. Luckily, I am able to ignore the pain by listening to Raoul. Recalling all the silly things him, me, and his siblings did as kids, I can hardly recognize myself in these memories. When had I been so reckless and immature? Today has reminded me that my childhood self is just buried deep, as I remember our games on the playground this afternoon. That part of me disappeared when Papa became sick. Now, though, with Raoul, it might be coming back. I have yet to decide if that is a good or bad thing.

Soon enough we get to the school, and, instead of walking to my room, Raoul walks me to Meg's. When he asks why, I simply tell him that if I don't go and see her, she might explode. So, predictably he goes along. When the building is in sight, I swear I see a curtain move in one of the windows. I roll my eyes.

"I think we have a spy," I whisper dramatically to Raoul.

"Where?" he asks, looking around.

"Wave to the second floor," I say. We both do this, and I swear I see another flicker of light.

"Meg's watching us?" asks Raoul, amused.

"Yup," I say.

"Of course."

"I guess I should go," I say.

"Wait," says Raoul. My heart starts pounding. What is he going to say? Maybe that he doesn't want to do this again, that I was boring, annoying, and ungrateful. What will I do?

"Tonight was amazing, Christine," he says, making my heart flutter. "I hope we can do this again sometime. I really like spending time with you."

"I like being with you too, Raoul," I say, blushing.

When he looks at me, his eyes flick to my lips, and my heart stops. He leans forward, just as I step back. "Wait," I say, and he looks confused. I look around for anything that I could use as an excuse for my irrational behaviour. He misinterprets these looks.

"You're right, we wouldn't want to give her anything else to talk about," says Raoul with a knowing smile, looking at the window.

"Exactly," I say nervously. What was I doing? He was about to kiss me! My first kiss! That's why I was nervous and my stomach was turning. Nerves. That had to be it! Right? I mean, Raoul is perfect. He's smart, funny, and my best friend. It makes sense that it would make me scared to make it something more. Right? I don't know what to think.

"Well, I can't wait to see you again, Lotte," Raoul says, leaning forward and giving me a tight hug. Numbly, I hug him back.

"Me either," I say.

Raoul laughs. "Goodnight, Little Lotte. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," I whisper, watching him walk away.

I turn and go into the building, dragging my foot up the stairs. As soon as I open the door of Meg and Madame Giry's room, Meg pulls me inside and shuts the door.

"How was it? You promised to tell me everything! What did you guys do? Did you kiss? Is he a good kisser? What happened?"

I can barely hear what she is saying, she is talking so fast. I sit down on the couch as she babbles.

"Hey, that's not your jacket!" she says. I almost forgot. I slip it off my arms, and Meg takes it. "Aw, he gave you his jacket? That's so sweet! It smells kind of strong, but that means he was trying to impress you!"

It didn't impress me at all, but I keep this fact to myself.

"Why are you so quiet?" she asks. Her face goes grim. "He didn't try anything, right? He seems like such a great guy, but, sometimes, those are the ones to watch out for-"

"Meg, he didn't do anything," I assure her.

"Good! Then tell me what happened!"

I recount everything that had happened after she and Hayden got on the bus. A small smile comes to my face when I think about the movie theatre, and holding his hand. It made me feel appreciated and cared for.

"And that's pretty much all that happened," I say at the end.

"Did you guys kiss?" she blurts out.

I remember standing outside, stepping away from him, feeling sick and anxious…"No, we didn't."

"Why not? I thought you guys were really getting along?"

"We were, Meg," I say, and can't help but laugh, albeit nervously. "We are just going to take it slow. Plus, we didn't really want an audience."

Meg's face goes red. "That's understandable."

I laugh. "C'mon, let's put in a movie," I say, eager to get rid of the mixed-feeling I had inside. Joy, nervousness, contentment, anxiety, happiness, and unease all swirled together inside me.

"Okay! I'll choose," says Meg. She decides on an eerie movie about a demon possessing the soul of a child. It isn't very relaxing or uplifting, but we enjoy it, minus the parts that make us scream, or hide under our blankets. Madame Giry comes out of her room towards the beginning, probably woken by our screaming, and joins us in watching it. I barely remember the end, as Meg and I fall asleep, and Madame Giry drapes a blanket over the two of us before going back to her own room.

I dream of Raoul running from Erik, and myself, running after both of them. Meg is there, telling me I have to tell her everything, and Papa is telling me to be strong, and that I might find out something about Raoul, Erik, and myself that I never knew, that might change everything. I don't understand what he is talking about before I wake up.

**Poor Erik and Christine. Nothing is ever working out for them, is it? Just wondering, since I seem to be teetering on the edge of this, do you think Raoul is more of a jerk or just a typical boy who sometimes has his moments? Don't hate me too much for the Raoul and Christine pairing of late. Raoul has grown on me, albeit Erik is always better. Always :) Please review, I'd love to hear what you have to say!**


	11. Chapter 11

**As always, a huge thanks to my beta phantomsmelody1871! Without you, I couldn't even bear to look at what I wrote, much less post it for others to see. Everyonedeserveslove also deserves a huge thanks as well! Your encouragement is wonderful and your reminders for me to update keep me from falling too far behind :) **

Chapter 11

The next few weeks pass in a blur. After my first date with Raoul, he seems more confident to put his arm around me, or hold my hand as we walk. I feel special and popular when I'm with him, when people are looking at me enviously. I know they are wondering why Raoul is with me of all people, but I try not to let it bug me. What do they matter, when I have Meg and Raoul? I make sure not to let Raoul see that it hurts me. I wouldn't want him to worry, and he doesn't seem to notice anyway.

Meg is enjoying the attention, in her usual happy-go-lucky way. I don't think Hayden cares, as long as it makes Meg happy, which makes him happy. I think we are in the same boat. We are happy, as long as our other half is.

My lessons with Erik were strained in the beginning. He would meet me, looking menacing, inside the practice building. I was unsure if we were going to continue lessons, until he came up to me in music class. I was so surprised that he was talking to me that I dropped everything I was carrying, sending it all across the floor. As I bent to pick it up, I thought of the first day, when Erik had helped me. This time he didn't, and it made me terribly sad. More than I would like. He told me that he would meet me inside the practise building from now on for our lessons, instead of in his usual room. Then he left me standing there, feeling like I had been slapped. Had I expected an apology with a warm embrace? Of course not, but I had expected some form of an apology. I guess that wasn't happening.

Eventually, he started to relax. Just a bit. He didn't look like he was out for blood, which I took as a good sign. After a week, I started making comments on classes, the weather, and things going on in the school. I would do anything to get him talking, even if the topics were superficial. He would "uh huh" and "oh, really?" insincerely when I tried, but later, he started giving his opinions every once in a while. It wasn't like it used to be, but I can't expect that either. I am still so unsure and confused about what happened the night I told Erik about my date with Raoul. I prefer not to think about it, pushing it to the back of my mind. It's better for everyone that way.

As I wait outside the boy's dorm for Raoul, I pull my jacket tightly around me. It doesn't keep out the cold very well. The jacket is one of the things that 'mysteriously' appeared on my receipt when I went shopping with Meg. It is a leather jacket that matches Raoul's. Meg thought it was cute, and Raoul said it was "hot," so I decided I would wear it. Personally, I think it is kind of ridiculous to match him. He doesn't own me. But Meg whined and complained that I didn't have any other really nice jackets, so, in the end, I agreed. It's true, my other jacket's sleeves no longer fit, and I don't have Erik's coat, not that I would wear it if I did, no matter how comfortable it was. I felt strangely hollow the day I gave it back to him.

It had taken two days for me to remember, and when I did, it was with a sense of foreboding. I put it in my backpack to take it with me to my lesson, and when Erik asked what was in it, once inside the room, I had grudgingly reached in and pulled it out.

"It's washed and everything. I thought you might like it back," I had said in a falsely happy tone.

Erik looked at it with a strange look on his face as I held it out towards him. Slowly, with long, leather clad fingers-for he had begun to wear them around me again- he took the jacket from my hand, leaving me with a fist of cold air.

"Thank you," he said, folding the jacket perfectly on his lap, then putting it beside him on the bench.

"You're welcome," I faltered, wanting to take it back, not knowing why. It was just a jacket.

As I stand in the cold, I can only be glad that Meg hadn't done something completely ridiculous, like have the jacket personalized with Raoul's initials, or have it engraved with "Raoul's Girl," or something equally as ludicrous. Actually, I am probably lucky that she didn't have rhinestones put on it. That would be a Meg thing to do. Raoul would find it just as ridiculous, I know. However, if we tried to get back at her, like giving her a jacket with "Hayden's Girl" written on it, she would probably like it.

My phone beeps, and, hoping it is Meg or Hayden, I open the message. It is Tania, a girlfriend of one of Raoul's friends. I don't really know her, and the first time she texted me, I wondered how she got my number, and why she wanted it in the first place. But, after a few days, more people like her were asking for my number, or getting it from friends. It was flattering and annoying at the same time. I didn't want people bugging me all the time, and Erik certainly wasn't happy when it began going off in the middle of our lesson. Several times.

"Who is this insolent person who insists on repeatedly annoying you?" he snarled.

"It's not just one person," I said, glancing briefly at the eighth message. It was one of Raoul's friends, asking me to hang out with him and a few others. It still flustered me when people asked me things like that, or even if they just talked to me. At first, it made them think I was weird, but now it's kind of their thing to tease me about it.

"Oh, so you are popular now?" he asked.

I gave him a curious look, wondering if it was an insult. "I suppose so. I don't really know them. They're Raoul's friends."

"And how is your boy? I am assuming the date went well, then?" he asked. It was the first time he mentioned it.

I was full out staring at him. He seemed calm. He wasn't looking me in the eye. "Yes, it was nice," I said carefully.

"Nice?" he asked.

"Yes." Was he expecting me to gush to him about how much of a gentleman Raoul was?

"I would think from how much things have changed, it would have been better than nice," he said casually.

"What do you mean?" I asked defensively.

He finally looked at me. "Your clothes, for starters."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I said, looking down. I liked what I was wearing. Meg phoned me to wake me up an hour earlier than usual so she could help me pick out what I was going to wear. Now, I don't need her helping me. Carlotta had just scowled when Meg came over around six in the morning, being louder than usual to annoy Carlotta. At the time Erik said that, I was wearing the light blue dress that I had gotten with Meg, with a pair of black flats. Sure, it was freezing, but I looked nice. I looked nice and felt nice.

"What happened to the jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers you so often wore?"

I shrugged. "I still have them. I just don't wear them as much."

"Did your boy make you give them up to look like the rest of his pretty friends?"

"No," I said, starting to feel slightly hurt and annoyed. "I like how I look. Do you not like it?"

He stopped mocking. "Did I say I didn't like it?"

"It sounds like you don't," I had said. "And you implied I wasn't pretty." That part hurt a lot, although it made me feel vain to think it. It wasn't that I wanted to be told I was the prettiest girl on earth, because I wasn't. However, he always made me feel beautiful. But I guess he didn't think I was.

Erik seemed at a loss for words. I knew I was making him tread thin ice, but I didn't care. I was angry, especially since it took me so long to look nice in the first place.

"You are lovely, Christine, no matter what you are wearing," he said quietly, glaring at the ground. My jaw dropped open. Then, he snapped at me to start the song from the beginning.

That was the first and last time he had complimented me in a long time, aside from his occasional "good" when I sang something right at our lessons.

I am debating on answering the text when Raoul walks out, his long blonde hair looking windswept. His bright blue eyes sparkle when he sees me and he grins. "Hey, babe," he says, putting his arm around my shoulders.

"Hi," I smile, wishing he would use a different term of endearment.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just texting Tania," I say, waving my phone.

"Good." I know it means a lot to him when I interact with his friends. They're not all that bad, nowhere near as bad as I thought they would be. Actually, I find myself having a lot of fun with them. We may not be in the inner circle of Carlotta's friends who are the only ones who haven't warmed up to me, but that's fine. I don't think I can pretend to like them, anyway.

As we walk, I text Tania and another friend of Raoul's, Jake. I like him the most out of Raoul's best friends, because, when he teases me about my shyness, I know he really is just joking. His humour is almost reminiscent of Papa's, in a more boisterous way.

There is a light dusting of snow on the ground, and some of it gets into my flats as I walk. "Isn't it too early for snow?" I mutter, making Raoul laugh. We stop so I can shake some of the snow out of my shoes. My toe is back to normal, thank goodness, and I am back to dancing, more importantly. When Meg started getting me to actually think about what I was going to wear, I realized it is hard to look pretty when you're limping through the school with a purple, swollen toe. And a lot of shoes just don't fit the same way.

Meg and Hayden are waiting outside the dining hall. Meg is practically blue, and Hayden is rubbing her arm, probably to make sure she hasn't turned to ice.

"Why didn't you guys go sit at our table inside?" I laugh. "You could have just texted us where you were."

"We were just waiting for you, chica," says Meg, her teeth chattering. "Sorry for being a good friend."

I give her a one arm hug, and we walk into the dining hall together. As we get to our table, Meg immediately pulls off her jacket and mittens. "I can't feel my fingers or my toes!" she exclaims. "Isn't it too early for there to be snow outside?"

"I said that too!" I say. Looking down our joined table of about ten people, I realize how much Raoul was giving up, sitting with just me, Meg, and Hayden. He could have been surrounded by his friends, and it makes me feel so warm and happy inside that he made sure I was comfortable first.

Sarah waves at me from across the table. I smile, and wave back shyly. Okay, so I'm not completely comfortable yet. But I will be. This is just different from what I am used to.

"I like your shirt, Chris," says Sarah. "Where did you get it?"

I tell her about the store Meg and I went to. We've gone back a couple times since then. It's mine and Meg's secret that she still helps me pick things out, although I am getting better at coming up with my own opinions on what to wear.

"Sounds great!" she says. "Maybe I could go with you guys next time?"

"Absolutely," I say. Meg jumps in and begins to tell Sarah about how great the store is, and other ones that we always visit when we're in town. I like Sarah, too. She was one of the people who were crowding Carlotta on the first day, but she also tried to defend me. Yesterday, she suggested that she could play back up for me at a recital. I gave her a vague "maybe". Erik hasn't told me that I can't sing other than where he instructs, but I assumed so, and I don't want to bring it up, especially when his temper is still fairly high. There are so many rules concerning him that are just assumed.

"Chris," says Tobias. "Carla, James, and I are going out to the lake tonight. Want to come with us? Raoul, Meg, and Hayden can come, too."

"Yeah, Chrissy," says Carla. "You should come! You can bring anyone you want."

I highly doubt they mean _anyone._ "Thanks guys, but I have a lesson tonight."

Already, everyone sitting at the table, and more, know about my singing lessons. Luckily, they don't seem to care too much about them, just saying they want to hear me sing again if it is brought up. So, I don't really mind.

"Come on, Christine. Just one time," says Tobias.

They look at me expectantly, and I see Raoul looking at me out of the corner of my eye. Meg is giving me a stern look, and that is the only thing that makes me feel confident enough to say no. "Sorry, guys, but I have to go. Some other time, alright?"

"Okay," sighs Carla.

Raoul looks down at the table, disappointed, and I want to hug him and explain it to him, but I'd probably end up with him chasing down Erik to beat him up, and I really don't want that to happen.

"You must be pretty good by now," says Tobias.

"Didn't you hear her at the party? She's amazing," says Raoul.

I smile at him and entwine our fingers on the table. If I can't hang out with him in the evenings, at least I can make the time that we do have together special.

"Yeah, I remember that," says Sarah. "You were so great, Chris."

"Thanks," I say shyly.

"You should sing a solo in the Christmas concert," says James. "I hear Carlotta's doing one."

"Great," says Meg with a roll of her eyes. "Not only will we get to listen to her brag about it before and after it happens, we will actually have to _listen_ to her sing, too."

Everyone laughs and nods in agreement. "C'mon, Chrissy, you have to sing again. Do you know how much that will bother her?" says Clara.

"I'm her roommate. Do you know much she will bother me?" I say sarcastically.

"She'll be so jealous that she won't have anything to say," says Sarah.

"Yeah, right," I say. "But thanks."

"Think about it," says James. "Not just for you or for us. But for all of humanity."

I laugh. Erik would appreciate that not many other people like her singing either. I feel a pang of sadness. But he won't know because he'll never talk to these people. He barely talks to me.

"Okay, fine. I'll think about it," I say, thinking that Erik was probably going to have me sing at it anyways. There must be Christmas music in the large stack of sheet music he's been setting aside for me. It seems to a foot taller every time I see it.

Sarah looks down at her phone. "Fifteen minutes until class. We should probably go," she says.

Clara moans. "Do we have to? Can't we just skip?"

"You can," says Sarah, pushing her chair in, "but I'd like to pass."

"Fine," says Clara, picking up her garbage and following Sarah, with Tobias and James in tow.

"I guess we should go," I say, getting up from my chair. "Bye, Raoul." I lean over and give him a small hug. My nose is assaulted by his strong cologne.

"Bye, Lotte," he says, his breath tickling my ear. He pulls away. "See you next class."

Meg waves Hayden off as she waits for me. "Don't you need to be somewhere?" I ask her. "Like class?"

"In a few minutes," she answers.

"Alright," I say uncertainly. We say goodbye to the other students still sitting at the table, unaffected by the time. We start walking towards my room, and Meg is quiet, giving me an uneasy feeling.

"Meg, are you sure you're alright?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says with a smile. "Are you?"

"Yes," I say. "Why do you ask?"

"You've just seemed different lately," Meg says with a shrug.

_Not her too. _"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You're smiling and you look happy, and that's good. You and Raoul are almost nauseatingly cute," she says, giving me a smile. "But you're also kind of pale. And there are bags under your eyes. Have you been sleeping alright?"

"Yeah, perfectly," I say. I've had no dreams since that weird one the night of my first date. For once, I've been sleeping soundly throughout the night, and I am not tired in the morning.

"I guess if you feel alright," says Meg. "How are your lessons going?"

I haven't told her about mine and Erik's fight yet. I'm worried she will freak out and tell a teacher, or tell her mother. She might even tell Raoul. It would not end well. "They're fine. I've just gotten through another aria. After two weeks," I say with a smile.

"He really strives for perfection, doesn't he?" says Meg.

I shake my head with a small laugh. "Absolutely. No mistakes pass him."

"Doesn't it make you exhausted? It sounds just as bad as Mama and dance class," says Meg.

"Maybe it's why I've been sleeping so well," I suggest. If it is, it's only helping me more.

"That's good, then. I really want to meet this guy, though. Talk to him, alright?" she asks.

"Sure," I lie. "See you next class!"

I hurry into my room to grab my stuff, pretty sure that I am going to be late to vocal. I'm so busy picking up my binders and papers that I almost don't notice Carlotta standing there.

"Looking for this?" she asks, holding up a page of warm ups that had fallen out.

"Thanks," I say, taking it from her and shoving it back in.

"I saw you and Raoul," she says.

I look up. "Oh?"

"It will not last."

"Thanks for the advice," I say, feeling annoyed. I get up to walk around her.

"He is easily bossing you around, getting you to do what he wants you to. You were best friends, once, but he will grow bored."

"Well, great, I'll make sure to think about it," I say in a huff. That last sentence struck home. What had Erik said about Raoul? _"You need someone to look after you, to keep you away from silly boys who will only play with your heart until they get bored." _Why was everyone saying that about Raoul? They are all biased, anyway. Carlotta is jealous and just mean, and Erik is…I don't know why he said that. He just doesn't like Raoul.

"I'm trying to warn you," Carlotta calls from the doorway. "I'm trying to help."

"Why would you help me?" I ask.

Carlotta glances away from me, displaying a brief uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability. Then she glares at me. "Fine, then. Don't listen. But you can't say I didn't warn you." She slams the door of our room shut, leaving me standing in the hallway in bewilderment.

Unsurely, I walk quickly to class, wondering what Carlotta was about to tell me. She couldn't have been helping. She was mean, and all she wanted was to tear me apart. Starting with my relationship with Raoul. He was my key to popularity, to confidence. He's the only one keeping me up on my feet. So, of course, that's what she would try first.

I am certain that Carlotta is nothing but a cruel, conniving witch by the time I arrive to class, two minutes late. I am short of breath, and the entire class turns to look at me. I blush and face Miss Meyer, who is looking none too happy.

"I'm so sorry," I say. "I couldn't find some of my papers, and I hadn't realized the time…"

"Christine, you have been late to my class four times already. Do you know what happens when you get to five?"

"Detention," I say, my voice little more than a squeak. Maybe I am a goody-two-shoes for being scared of getting a detention, but things like that go on your permanent record.

"Exactly. Please do not be late to my class again," says Miss Meyer. "And would you happen to know where Carlotta is?"

I look to the front of the room. Erik is sitting at the piano, his eyes on me. By a music stand is a boy, Adam, I think his name is. They must have just finished the warm ups, I realize.

"She was still in our room when I left. She…" _She slammed the door in my face. _"She didn't look like she was feeling well." I almost gape in surprise at the words coming out of my mouth. Why was I protecting her from getting in trouble?

"Why didn't she see the school nurse, or tell a teacher?" asks Miss Meyer.

"She…" Erik is looking at me with a strange expression. "She didn't want anyone to worry. She said it wasn't too serious, but she wanted to be alone."

"Alright," says Miss Meyer, her expression softening. "Take your seat, Christine."

I nod in appreciation and take my spot among the sopranos. "Carlotta's sick?" asks a girl named Eliza.

"I think so," I say, and turn to my music, because I don't think I'll be able to come up with any more fake details.

"Halloween is coming up," starts Miss Meyer, instantly getting an excited reaction from the class. "We are having a dance and party, but we were also thinking of having some performances from classes."

I grin, and Tania smiles at me from her place with the altos. I love Halloween! You can dress up and be whatever you want, and Meg typically drags me to the dance. It's the one time Madame Giry lets Meg and me eat sugary candy. The classes have decorations, and everything is so festive!

"I'm happy you guys like the idea," says Miss Meyer with a smile. "How about some ideas for what we should sing?"

"Thriller!" someone shouts.

"The Monster Mash," says another.

"Misguided Ghosts," calls the girl beside me.

"Ghosts!"

"She Wolf!"

"Poker Face!" someone yells, and everyone laughs.

"I see you guys have lots of ideas," says Miss Meyer with a large grin. "How about I post some sheets to the wall outside the classroom door, and anyone who has an idea can write it down? They don't have to be in this class either, as long as it is appropriate.

I can't stop smiling. This Halloween is going to be the best! At the party, I will be with Raoul, and we'll be surrounded by friends. For once, I'll be popular and in the middle of things, instead of skirting the edges. We will have to pick our costumes this weekend, because Halloween is next week. I forget what Meg said she and Hayden were being. I know that he just happily went along with what she said. Raoul and I still haven't been able to agree on anything. He doesn't want to look "stupid," and, apparently, half of the ideas we've had have been stupid.

Oh, well, he'll agree sooner or later. We'll find something we both like. A princess and a knight? Frankenstein and his bride? Two pirates? They are really classic ideas, and I want to think of something different. Something that will show that I belong on Raoul's arm, with friends surrounding us.

"Remember, Halloween is next week, so we need to have three songs for our class by Monday, and all other songs will up for grabs for individual performances," reminds Miss Meyer. "Okay, guys, we have to at least try to get to work, now." As she tries to rein the class in, I look at Erik, who is scowling at the class.

0000000000

"Why can't I sing one?" I ask. I have finally mustered up the courage to want to perform, to ask Erik if I can, and he says no?

"Because I said so."

"That's not fair," I say.

"Life isn't fair."

"And that's old," I say, trying to keep my bottom lip from pouting. "Please, Erik?" I try again. "I actually want to perform this. I _want _to! _Me_!"

"No, Christine," he says. I sigh, missing his terms of endearment.

"Why not? Don't you like Halloween?" I ask.

"Why should I?" he snorts.

"Because it's great!" I say. Erik looks at me to elaborate, and the list I have in my mind vanishes instantly. Now, the reasons seem very childish. "Well, there are games, and prizes, and the party we have is really fun! The decorations are so cool, and I love the costumes." I think about when I was little and spent Halloween with my father. "When I was five, I dressed up as the Disney princess Belle, six years in a row," I say, laughing a little. Raoul went as a zombie, ninja, or a pirate. I'm pretty sure his costume was different every time.

"Yes, well, I cannot see you as a fan of some of the more gruesome costumes," he says dryly.

I giggle. "Depends. If they're really bloody, then they freak me out."

"And if they're not?" he asks, sounding bored.

"If they're just scars and they look weird, then they won't scare me. Unless someone jumps out of the dark wearing one. Then I might scream and run."

"Darling, you do that whether the person is scary looking or not," says Erik.

"I guess so," I laugh, trying to hide my feeling of jumping for joy that he called me something other than "Christine." I was getting sick of my own name.

"So, is that a yes?" I ask, hopefully.

"No," he answers plainly, and my smile vanishes. "If such things existed, you would be running for the hills. You would not be having a party to celebrate it. I will not have your loveliness in the midst of that ridicule."

"They don't exist, Erik," I say. "It's just a fun holiday, and I'm going with Raoul, Meg, Hayden, and lots of other people anyway."

"Wonderful, there is another reason for you not to do it."

"Why do you hate Halloween so much?"

"The answer to your question is one you would rather not know," he says.

"But I do want to know!"

"No, you only think you do," he says. "If you did know, then you would only wish you didn't, and that you could continue to sleep peacefully at night."

"No, Erik, I do want to know."

"It would only cloud your pretty mind with terror, and that will not happen if I can help it."

I am tired of him referring to me like a child, like I wouldn't understand. "Erik! You can't just say things like that and not explain. I want to know what you're thinking."

"I am thinking that you will not be performing."

I sigh in frustration, but finally give in. If he doesn't want to tell me, he won't, especially if I beg. Really, what was so bad about Halloween? And what does he mean I would only wish to sleep peacefully at night? I try to focus on our song, and I come up with a plan to sing at the party, one that Erik will agree with once he sees.

**A/N: I feel like I am always asking you guys not to hate Christine. You'll just have to trust me...and Erik. Do you really think Erik will let Christine go to Raoul? Thank you everyone for the wonderful reviews, and for giving me your honest opinions and advice. I truly do consider them while writing my story. I've always liked hearing people's opinions, whether I agree with them or not, so I'm glad you guys share with me what you're thinking. **

**On an unrelated note, has anyone seen Sierra Boggess and Hugh Panaro in Phantom of the Opera on Broadway? I badly wanted to see it, but I live too far away. And then there's school...but mostly just because of the distance. :P Anyway, I can't believe she had her last show yesterday :( I guess she will be moving on to other things, so I'm happy for her. And Ramin is playing Jean Valjean in Les Miserables in Toronto at the end of the year! Who else is planning on going? **

**:) EriksAngeDeLaMusique **


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

**A/N: So...it's been a while. I am sooooooooo incredibly sorry! I don't know where all the time has gone! I am also apologizing in advance for this chapter because my beta hasn't edited it yet, but I hope you still enjoy it!**

I don't ask Erik about Halloween again. He clearly is not going to explain to me why he hates it, and it is very obvious that he does hate it from his menacing looks in vocal class when we practise our song. It makes him look even more threatening than usual.

Is it because of his mask? Yes, he wears a mask, and so do people on Halloween. I don't see the big problem. I guess it might make the person who wears the mask uncomfortable, but Erik is not someone that is easily made uncomfortable. He is imposing, daunting, and severe. Something silly and fun shouldn't bother him so much.

"Have you and Raoul decided on your costumes yet?" asks Sarah.

I sigh. "Kind of. Okay, not really."

"The party's tomorrow," says Meg. "You guys must have come up with something."

"We have," I say, glancing at Raoul who is watching Tobias play a game on his phone. Probably the same one Raoul tried to get me to play. I wasn't very good. I got about 200 points, whereas Raoul has about 2,000,000 now. "We've come up with plenty of somethings, it's just the problem of getting him to agree to one of them."

I don't understand why he's being so difficult. Sure, costumes are cheesy and goofy, but they are _fun._ It is all in the spirit of the holiday, so how could they be stupid? It's not even because I'm a dork, or I don't understand popular things, because the other girls are excited about the costumes, too. So what is bothering Raoul so much?

"What are you and Hayden being?" Sarah asks Meg.

Meg grins. Coming up with her and Hayden's costumes has been her favourite activity for the past week. "Zombies," she says.

"Nice," says Carla with a laugh.

"What are your ideas so far?" Sarah asks me.

"Princess and knight, bride and groom, pirates, zombies, Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf…anything!"

"Those are actually pretty good," says Sarah.

"Thanks. I wish he agreed," I say.

Meg gives me a sympathetic smile. "You'll come up with something."

"What time is it?" I ask, suddenly, remembering the warning Miss Meyer gave me last time. I know she will carry it out, and I only have one chance left. I don't know what my punishment will be, but I know that I won't like it.

"Five minutes to the bell," answers Carla, her eyes flicking to her phone. "Why?"

"Ugh," I mutter. "I've got to get to class early." It wasn't that I didn't want to show up early, but I have begun to enjoy the time I spend with Carla, Sarah, and the boys. And, of course, Meg and Raoul, as I always have.

"It can't wait a few more minutes?" asks Meg. Her tone is teasing. She already knows the answer.

"No, and not just because it's vocal class," I say, shooting a smile at Meg. "If I'm late one more time I'll get in trouble." I sound like a nerd, I realize, as the words come out my mouth. What will they think?

"You…in trouble?" says Meg in mock surprise. "Guess you better go, before the world turns on its side."

"Thanks," I say, laughing nervously.

"You're such a dork, Christine," says Carla.

I look at her, open mouthed, feeling slightly stung, until I see the grin on her face and the humour in her eyes. "I know," I say, feeling certain that I am, and yet, I don't care.

I get up and give Raoul a one-armed hug, as he is still playing his game, and he looks at me confused, before realizing he just lost his game. Sighing in frustration, he passes it to James, who eagerly begins to quickly tap his thumbs in strategic patterns across the keys.

"Where are you going?" asks Raoul.

"Class," I say. "It starts in a few minutes. You should probably go, too. I don't want you to get in trouble."

He smiles. "I'll be fine, Lotte. But why are you going now?"

"I'll get in trouble if I'm late again. Besides, you were a little busy with something," I tease.

Raoul's smile fades, and he blinks up at me, slowly, as if he is trying to comprehend what I am saying. "What are you talking about? I'm sitting here with you."

For some reason, this is a punch in the gut, although it is true. "I know," I say. "I was just teasing, and I don't see why it's a big deal for me to sit here when you're playing your video game and not talking to me."

"Fine. Go." He turns back to the table to watch James playing the game. The phone is making explosive noises. From the asteroids, I recall.

"Raoul, it's not like that. Why are you upset?" I glance down at the clock. Two minutes to the bell. "I need to go now."

"Alright," he says, and shrugs indifferently.

I want to stay and make him explain, but with another glance at the clock, I know I have to go. I throw him an apologetic look, which he does not see. I can see Meg watching out of the corner of her eye. She nods her head once, indiscreetly. I give her a small smile and hurry outside. If possible, it is getting colder by the day. My leather jacket doesn't keep out the cold very well, but the cotton long sleeve shirt I'm wearing underneath helps a little.

The bell rings for students to start heading to class when I am already stepping through the door. I breathe a sigh of relief as I sit down in my chair. I'm not sure what I had been expecting. Maybe that I had somehow not heard the bell and everyone would already be in class waiting as I rush through the door. That isn't the case, though, and there are four other people in the classroom already.

Belinda, one of Carlotta's friends, is looking at a popular music video on YouTube of girls dancing suggestively in small scraps of clothing that I guess count as bikinis. I scrunch my nose in distaste and turn away. I really did not need or want to see that.

A girl with chin-length blonde hair called Molly is writing something in her notebook. I remember she also plays the trumpet. Beside her is a boy, Bruce, I think. His face and arms are covered with smatterings of freckles. As he leans over to talk to Molly, I wonder if they are dating. I'll ask Meg later. Or, maybe Carla is more likely to know. She seems to be the best person for knowing things that really aren't her business.

Then, finally, my eyes land on someone playing at the piano, and it hits me. The last reason I didn't want to come to class early anymore. Erik and I had certainly smoothed over our last argument, but nothing is ever smooth or easy when it comes to Erik. I know that we will have plenty of arguments in the future. It isn't that I don't want to see him. I like talking to him, as he is finally speaking with me again. But, it still feels more formal than I would like, and sometimes, I sense an almost uncomfortable air to our lessons. Is he still angry? Am I doing something wrong? Does it have something to do with Raoul? Does it not have anything to do with me at all? So many things feel unsaid, and I'm not even sure, exactly, what those things are.

At least I feel comfortable enough to walk over to where his quiet, yet beautiful music radiates from. I stand there, just listening and watching. After a few minutes, I question if he knows I'm there, until he quietly says, "Is there something I can do for you, Christine?" He doesn't break from his playing, and his eyes stay closed.

I jump, and instantly feel foolish. Of course he knows I'm here. He always knows. What am I doing again? "Just keep playing," I say, trying to fight the reddening of my cheeks. Why must the simplest things embarrass me around him, especially when he never looks anything less than dignified?

"As you wish, _ma belle_," he says and I smile. I pull up a chair, not too close to him, and pull my knees to my chest, not caring that I probably look like a small child. I rest my head against my knee and twirl a lock of curly blonde hair around my finger. For once I do not close my eyes and listen. Instead, I watch him while he plays.

His fingers glide across the keys in a blur, and I wonder how he can play so well even with the leather gloves on. That makes me think about why he's started wearing them again, but I shake it off. It's getting close to winter. He's probably just cold. While I doubt this fact, it also makes it easier to explain the coat and hat he often wears, but not the dress clothes. I smother a smile. The dress clothes are actually rather dashing, and personally, I think they look much better than the baggy shirts and low-rise jeans most of the guys wear.

His hair is as black as midnight. It only helps to make him a human shadow, I suppose. His lips are pressed together, not in anger, in passion for his music. His mask blocks the rest of his face that I can see, except his eyes, which are closed. His mouth twitches, and I know he can sense I am watching him. He is much less scary with his eyes shut, so I pretend not to notice.

The music finally drifts to a close. He opens his eyes, and turns to face me. We look at each other for a few minutes, simply blinking. I want to know what he is thinking. As for myself, I simply feel lost in space, but Erik's music often has that effect on me.

"How are you, _ma colombe_?" he asks.

"Fine," I say. As always with Erik, he neither pushes me to say more nor disregards me, but he does raise an eyebrow.

"What?" I ask, confused, until I follow his line of sight to my finger that I had been twirling in my hair. Now, it is stuck in a huge knot. "My ring," I say, paling. I forgot I was wearing a ring that Papa had given to me on my tenth birthday. I attempt to tug on it but immediately gasp in pain. I pull on strands of hair but it does nothing, except send sharp bursts of pain to my scalp.

I look worriedly at Erik. "It's stuck," I say, as if he can't tell.

"I see, Christine. Perhaps, I could try," he leaves the offer hanging in the air, almost like a question. Without hesitation I nod, and wince as it pulls my hair.

"Please," I say. I lean forward and Erik moves to the edge of the bench. He surveys my catastrophe, and then swiftly goes to unknotting the thicker strands.

I try not to make any noise while he pulls at it, as much as it hurts, but I cannot help a whimper once or twice. "Sorry, dearest, but there's not any other ways to do this." I remember not to nod, and stay silent as he tries to pull my finger free from the tendrils.

The bell is moments from ringing, and almost the whole class is here. I can feel their eyes on me and my face burns in humiliation. Erik notices this and sighs. "There, there, my dear," he whispers. "You do seem to get yourself in the worst of situations."

"If people didn't aggravate me, things like this wouldn't happen."

He chuckles, and the sound softens the frustration that has been building up over the past few days. It does not, however, stop Miss Meyer from looking at us when the bell rings as she walks to the front of the classroom, and saying, "What did you do?"

"I seem to have gotten my ring stuck," I mumble. Some people in the class laugh, making my red face burn brighter.

"Christine," she sighs.

"At least I'm here," I say, trying for a joke. As it is, she does smile a bit.

"Miss Meyer, if it wouldn't be too much of a problem, I would like to take Christine elsewhere, perhaps the office, to help remove the ring," says Erik. "It would be better, I think, without the class gawking. Besides, this may take a bit longer than I had hoped."

I could hug Erik right then and there, if it weren't for the class, my finger being stuck, and that Erik is, in fact, the most intimidating person I have ever met. Most people in the class are looking at Erik like they had when he had embarrassed Carlotta. Like they couldn't believe he was actually a person, and not a human music player, or someone who was the subject of a rumour passed once in a while in the hallway. I had certainly heard them all. They probably hadn't ever heard Erik talk so much in his life.

"Very well, Erik," says Miss Meyer. "You are both excused from class. I expect both of you back once the problem has been resolved?"

"Of course," says Erik, and I repeat him, but I sound much less dignified. With Erik leading me slightly by my wrist, I follow him out of the room until the closed door shuts off the feeling of everyone's eyes on me.

"Thanks," I say quietly.

"You are welcome. I cannot bear to listen to any more of that…_atrocity_ they call music."

I laugh a little. "You mean the Halloween song? Thriller?"

"Yes. If not for his voice and artistry, it would be unbearable."

"What's so bad about it? I like Michael Jackson." It is true, even when I mostly listen to classical music. The only reason I can see Erik hating it is for the fact it isn't classical, or because it's about Halloween…

"Yes, he is quite good, for someone who sings pop music. However, that song is terrible. Its message is to run from odd creatures people consider monsters."

I don't point out that it is just for fun. I still don't understand why he hates Halloween so much, or anything related to it. Why is he even doing the performance with us if he hates the occasion so much?

"Erik," I say. My voice is loud in the deserted school grounds. "You are accompanying us for our Halloween performance, right?"

"No, I am not," he answers firmly, not looking at me.

"But…why?"

"I do believe we have already gone over my reasons as to strongly disliking Halloween, so I will not take part in the ridiculous performance."

I want to argue, but I decide not to. It will just end up like it did at our lesson. We walk in silence towards the office. The cold air blows against my face, and I wonder if we will get snow in October. I can't remember having a colder start to winter, but then again, I always think the winter I'm suffering through is the coldest.

"Christine," says Erik.

"Hmm?" I look up at him.

"If…you do not mind my asking, that is, who has been aggravating you, as you said?"

"Oh," I say. "Just…nothing really. I was only frustrated."

"I see," he says, but I can tell he doesn't believe me. How can he know me so well that he knows when I am lying? I doubt I know myself that much.

I think of what to tell him. What has been bothering me? Everything. I should be happy, I know. I have the best boyfriend I could ever want, the greatest friends, I look better, and I am getting more popular each day…so what is the problem? Well, I don't really care about those things, but they are something to be happy about, right?

"Is it that witch, Carlotta?" he asks casually, or as casually as one can while insulting whom they speak of. "_Mademoiselle Spart_?"

I look curiously at him. "No, it's not her." Ever since her strange episode, Carlotta has done her best to avoid me at all costs. I'm not sure what I did, but whatever it was, it must have really angered her. Maybe it's jealousy. I know that's what causes alot of girls to act strangely. Is she jealous that I'm dating Raoul? That sits uncomfortably with me, because while I know Raoul doesn't like Carlotta, she is still popular, pretty, and flirty. She is what I'll never be. Raoul doesn't like her, though, so I shouldn't worry. I feel bad driving Carlotta from her own room. That's another thing I should be happy about, but I'm not.

"What does _spart_ mean? You still haven't told me," I say, a poor attempt at distracting him.

"It means toad, dear, and are you sure there is nothing?"

I laugh a little at the translation, but I become more serious as he continues. Why does he care? "I'm just stressed about things." That is not a lie. I am usually stressed about things, even if there is nothing to stress over.

"About?"

I shrug. "School and stuff."

He gives me a look out of the corner of his eye. "I see."

He is not going to give up. "Everyone's been freaking out about the dance, and I was excited, too. But now I don't really want to go."

"Why not? Who is this everyone?"

"Carla, Sarah, Meg, Tania, Eliza, Kelley, Morgan, Joanna," I list off.

"I've never heard of any of those people, except for Meganne."

"They're new friends," I explain.

"I assumed. Now, why aren't you excited for this dance? I thought girls liked that sort of thing."

"Other girls. Meg loves them, and she's the only reason I ever go. I don't really like social things, but when I met the others I was kind of looking forward to it."

"Right about the week after you went out of town with Meg?" he guesses. I tense at his mention of that time. We weren't exactly on friendly terms. He seems unperturbed, but this could just be a façade.

"Yes, that's when I met Carla and Sarah and-"

"Don't go through the trouble, _ma petite_."

"Right," I say, blushing a little at my blabbering. I doubt he cares about my friends and problems. "Anyway, I should want to go. My friends are all bugging me to go, and so is Raoul-" I pause and look at Erik, suddenly worried of mentioning him. But Erik says nothing so I continue. "I don't really get why he wants to go, but I agreed. We were all supposed to go in costume, and I came up with a bunch of ideas, but Raoul…"

"He didn't like them." Erik finishes.

"No. He thinks they're stupid." I sigh. "The girls and I thought they were pretty cool, but I guess they aren't."

"I'm sure they're good ideas," he says.

"Well, I'm out of ideas, so I guess we'll be going in jeans."

Erik doesn't answer, so I figure that the conversation is over. Briefly, I wonder if telling him about my relationship problems was something I shouldn't have done. But why shouldn't I? Erik is my friend, a close friend, no matter how much we fight. Meg is my best friend, and I tell her things like that. I even tell the other girls, and I'm not very close with them, although I do like them. Somehow, it's not the same thing. Nothing with Erik is easy. Maybe he does that on purpose, to see if people care enough to get past it.

A seed of determination plants itself in my head. Obviously, there haven't been many, if any, people who have tried to get close to Erik. I want to be that person. I want to be there for Erik like he's been for me. It won't be easy, I know, but it'll be worth it. I hope. I hope he doesn't push me away.

We reach the office, and Erik holds open the door for me. I flash a smile at his solemn expression. I'm glad it's warm inside, because I left my jacket in the classroom in my rush to get out. The secretary looks up and her eyes widen as she gets up and hurries towards us.

"Oh my, what has happened here?" she asks, examining my finger, knotted in my hair.

"We have a bit of a problem," Erik answers for me. "We were wondering if you would have a pair of scissors."

"Scissors?" I ask in alarm.

"Just in case," he tells me.

I gulp. Scissors? I glance at my long hair wrapped around my finger and in my ring. Sure, in the morning sometimes I wish I had straight, chin-length hair, but I didn't really mean it.

"Yes, yes, we have some around here," the secretary says, bustling around her desk, eventually pulling out a large pair of red-handled scissors. "Are you sure you can do this?" she asks Erik, as she hesitantly hands him the scissors.

"Hopefully we don't need them, but if it comes to that, I think I'm quite capable," he says politely, yet sarcastically.

The secretary looks at him like she isn't sure whether he is being rude or honest. She shrugs and sits back at her desk, seeming to decide that if Erik cuts off my finger, it's not her fault.

Erik gently leads me to a chair at the other side of the room. I sit down and twist my free hand in the hem of my shirt. Erik kneels down in front of me and pulls off his gloves, revealing his pale, bony, long-fingered hands. I pull back slightly without meaning too, and Erik glances at me, and then at my hand wrapped in the bottom of my shirt. He reaches out and unclenches my hand from my shirt and places it on my leg.

"It's okay, dear. It won't hurt. I'll try to be gentle," he says.

"Okay," I squeak.

He starts trying to untangle strands of my hair from my ring, and true to his word, he is as gentle as possible. Once in a while I stifle a yelp of pain and Erik glances up with a sympathetic look. I feel like I am sitting there for hours. Really, it must have only been ten minutes, when Erik leans back and looks at the few strands still connecting my ring to my hair with his brow furrowed. I was able to take the ring off my finger when the larger parts of the knot had been untangled, and now lie in a frizzy mess against the side of my head.

"You can get the rest of it, right?" I ask, slightly panicked.

He frowns, pulls a little at the strands, and sighs. "They're too knotted. I'm going to have to cut it."

No! Are you sure?"

"Sorry, _mon ange_."

I bite my lip. I don't want my hair to be cut! If he's only cutting a few strands it will look terrible! What if he messes up and cuts even more than he has to? No, I trust Erik. I don't know what he's going to do, but he never does anything halfway. He is a perfectionist, so I can only hope that it applies to everything.

When he kneels back down, he picks up the scissors and reaches for the ring. I am beyond being embarrassed now, but I do blush a little at imagining what I must look like. If I was around my friends, I know I'd be mortified. I also know that Erik doesn't care, so I sit as still as possible.

"You're lucky you knotted it near the front," he murmurs as the blades are pressed just above the ring.

Why is it lucky to have it near the front? Doesn't that make it more obvious that my hair will be cut strangely?

I glance over at the secretary who is shamelessly watching us, looking amused. I decide to focus on Erik instead. He has a strand of my hair between the scissor blades, but he hasn't cut it yet.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"No."

"Alright, _ma belle_." I hear a snip, and the strand falls to the floor. He peers at the rest of the knot, and starts snipping away. I don't watch the hair fall. I look at Erik, whose lips are pressed tight together as he works, and his eyes are focused on what he is doing. There is a shadow around his right eye from the mask, and I think about what's beneath it. Of course, I've thought about it before, but usually I barely notice it's there.

I realize that right now, if I wanted, I could pull off the mask and finally see what he always tries to hide. He wouldn't have time to react. It can't be that bad.

His eyes are still concentrated on cutting my hair in a way that is least noticeable; however, I don't think there is a way to do that. Instantly, I feel guilty. Erik only tries to help me, and I'm thinking of hurting him by betraying the little trust he has in me, just to sate my curiosity.

Erik surprises me from my thoughts when he speaks. "You do not have a costume still, correct?"

For a moment I am confused, and then I recall what I was telling him ten minutes ago. I am surprised that he still remembers. Well, of course he does. "Yeah. Why?"

"I may have something to your liking."

"You have a costume for me?"

"And your boy, but I can't promise that he will find it suitable," he says, less enthusiastically.

"Thank you, Erik!" I say, grinning widely.

"Wait until you see it first, my dear," he says, chuckling. "But I think you will like it. You can thank me then."

"Okay," I say with a laugh.

"I think we're done," he says, flicking a short strand of hair.

"Thanks," I say, reluctant to have to walk around, looking as terrible as I probably do.

"Is there a broom and dustpan somewhere here?" Erik asks the secretary as he gets up.

"Yes, I'll just go get it," she answers.

Erik turns to me. I am fiddling with the shorter strands, getting used to the feeling of shorter, curly strands instead of long ones.

"Maybe we should have covered you with something," he says with a slight smile, as he pulls a few pieces of cut hair off my shoulder.

I brush a few more off my legs. "Yeah, that would have been a good idea."

The secretary brings over the broom and dustpan, and I help Erik clean up, despite his protests. By the time we are finished, I have also gotten all the hair that had fallen onto my clothes, and the secretary is bringing over a small hand mirror.

"I thought you might like to see how it looks," she says. "I'll be in the back, so just leave it on the desk when you're finished." She takes the broom and dustpan while I look down at the plastic back of the mirror.

"Don't you want to see?" Erik asks. I don't really, but I suppose it will be kind of an insult to Erik if I don't look.

I hold the mirror up just enough to see the front of my hair, and I am surprised. Unlike the choppy mess I had been expecting, somehow, and I suspect he cut he cut off more hair than necessary to make it work, Erik made it look like side bangs, ending around my chin in little curls.

"It looks great," I say, smiling.

"Good. I hope you don't mind that I cut off a bit more in the front and back so it did not look lopsided."

"Not at all," I say, putting the mirror on the desk. "You'd make a wonderful hairdresser, Erik," I say with a giggle.

"I'll pass," he says dryly.

"I guess we should get back to class," I say eventually.

"Yes, we should." Erik holds the door open for me again, and we walk back to class. On the way we don't talk, but I am used to the comfortable silence with Erik. I think over my plan for tonight. I feel a bit guilty after what Erik has done for me, but I'm really not doing anything wrong, and Erik will see it from my way by the end.

0000000000

That night my singing lesson is cancelled because of the Halloween party. So, instead of heading to lessons, I go to Meg's with Sarah to get ready for the dance. When they see my costume, they aren't able to stop gushing over it.

"It looks great!" exclaims Meg.

"I thought you guys didn't have a costume," says Sarah.

"Actually, we didn't. But Er-a friend lent them to us," I correct myself hurriedly. I almost forgot no one but Meg and Madame Giry knows about my friendship with Erik. Raoul was suspicious in the beginning, and, after word got around that he was the one to leave with me during vocal class, he's been worse.

"Where did they get this? Does Raoul have the other one?"

"I'm not really sure," I say. That was one thing I hadn't been sure of when Erik had went and got it for me after school. He said it was just lying around in the costume department. I haven't seen it before, and with how intricate everything is about it, I don't think it was ever a part of the school's costume collection. It gives me kind of an uncomfortable feeling, like the rose had been, but I know it's only a kind gesture, and I try to leave it at that without thinking about it too much. "And Raoul is supposed to wear the other half, but I don't think he will."

"Why not? I thought you said it looks amazing," says Meg.

"It does. But he thinks it looks dorky, and he was moaning and complaining," I say. Really, the costume does look amazing. I was worried that Erik might deliberately pick something that Raoul wouldn't wear. Then he brought it back and I had to admit it was pretty fantastic. His costume kind of resembled a prince's costume, except it was in all white. What a prince would be doing with my costume, an angel costume, I'm not exactly sure, but they look perfect nonetheless. I don't think the costumes came with each other. Raoul's looks similar to one I had seen in the costume department, although much nicer.

I adjust the strap of my wings. They are the only part of the costume that is starting to annoy me the slightest bit, but they are so beautiful I can't bear to take them off. My whole costume is beautiful. The flowing white dress has a hem that reaches the floor, and tight long sleeves. Little gold threads hidden in the fabric shimmer when I move, and they match the gold halo pinned in my hair.

Sarah leans over and adjusts a bobby pin that is holding the halo in place. Her Cinderella costume billows around her, and looks gorgeous.

"I can't believe you had to cut your hair," Sarah giggles as she pulls my newly cut curls.

"Don't remind me, it was so embarrassing," I sigh. Raoul had been sympathetic, and also annoyed with me. He had laughed at how I got my ring stuck, but he wasn't very happy that Erik had been the one to help me, or the one that I was with in the first place. He asked why I would be talking to him at all. I felt indignant and hadn't wanted to start a fight, especially when we hadn't even resolved the first one, so I lied and told him I was just asking about a song we were doing in class. Then I showed him the costume, which he wasn't too interested in.

"But it looks great, so it's not a big deal," Meg assures me.

"I guess we better get going girls, unless you want to be late," says Sarah.

Madame Giry comes out of her room with a camera. "Wait! I need a few pictures before you go."

Meg moans a bit, but happily poses with the rest of us by the door. Between Sarah and me, Meg's zombie costume really stands out, but Meg always does. After taking her pictures, Madame Giry shoos us out, making sure Meg has a camera to take pictures of everything.

"Sorry about that," Meg apologizes as we walk to the gym where the dance will be held.

"No problem," says Sarah. "We need someone to remind us to take pictures, or we might never remember this."

Meg laughs then runs ahead when she sees Hayden waiting outside the gym with the others.

"You guys didn't have to wait," I say when we get there.

"No problem," says Jake. He is wearing a leather jacket and his hair is jelled back. Suddenly, I notice all the other guys are dressed up the same, except Raoul, who only has his usual leather jacket on.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "You're the guys from Grease!"

"Exactly," says Jake. "Not too hard to put it together, so we figured we might as well dress up."

"It looks great," says Sarah.

"Thanks. Let's get inside, shall we?"

We all walk in together, and as soon as we step through the doors, I have to admit that the students who put this all together did an amazing job. A fog machine must be hidden somewhere, because it swirls in tendrils around our ankles. Fairy lights are hung around the room, and pumpkins with lights inside are in each corner beside tables with candy and drinks.

"Wow," we all say.

"This is so cool!" says Meg, swishing around the fog with her foot.

"You look amazing," Raoul says into my ear.

I jump and turn to face him. "Thanks," I say, positive he can't see my blush because of how dark it is. Even when the strobe lights flash, you can only make out the most basic features of people standing a few feet away. "Why aren't you wearing your costume?"

He shrugs. "It was kind of dorky."

"And Danny Zucko isn't?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"No, he's cool," Raoul says with a lopsided smile, but for once it doesn't cause butterflies. "You should've dressed up like Sandy."

I laugh, albeit a little confused at what he means. "It was one of my ideas, but I like this costume so much."

"Now I'm starting to wish I wore it, if only to match you."

"You're forgiven," I say with a laugh, trying to hide my annoyance. I had lied. He wasn't forgiven, but did I really have a reason to be mad? He still dressed up, and did I really expect him to wear a costume so extravagant? "Let's go see what Meg's up to."

Sarah and Meg are dancing around, trying to draw pictures in the fog, as Hayden watches them amusedly.

"Where's Carla and Kelley?" I ask.

"I think they're outside," says Sarah. I look around and see the front and back doors opened up to the night, trying to let out some of the heat. Fog is floating out as well, making it look like the perfect night for Halloween.

"There's so much food," says Jake, as he walks over. "The teachers handed out about five pounds of candy already."

"There's no such thing as too much sugar," says Meg, making me laugh.

"When it comes to you, there should be," says Hayden.

Meg pretends to pout, then grabs mine and Sarah's hands. "Come on, let's go dance!"

I manage to throw a smile over my shoulder to Raoul, as Meg drags both of us towards the center of the room. I'm not one for dancing, but I laugh as Meg bops around, twirling us every once in a while.

After a few more songs, the student DJ announces that the first performance of the night will start. A few people dressed in either white gowns or black tuxedos line up at the front of the gym. They put on a short skit that is morbid and somehow tastefully funny at the same time. I clap loudly with the rest of the school as they take their bows, and the music resumes.

A slow song comes on, and Raoul taps my shoulder. "Want to dance?" he asks.

"Sure," I say, and place my arms around his neck as Hayden and Meg start to dance beside us.

"What did you think of the skit?" I ask as we slowly turn in a circle.

"It was really funny," he says. "I wish our class had put on a skit."

"They can't have everyone perform," I point out.

"True," he says. "So when is your vocal class performing?"

"In about ten minutes," I say.

"I can't wait."

The song eventually draws to a close, and Meg bounds back over to my side. "Hey, want to go find Carla and Sarah? I think they're with Tobias and James! We could go get some food, too, if you want," she says rapidly.

"No more sugar for you," I pretend to admonish.

"I can only have it a few times a year," she says. "I'm getting as much of it as I can."

I look at Hayden. "Have fun."

"You're the one sleeping over at her house," he says, before he turns to follow her.

"I guess we'll be up to three in the morning," I say.

"My opinion of ballerinas has forever been changed because of her."

"That's for the best, considering your opinion was stereotypical and likely to get you beat up by an angry ballerina sooner or later," I say, making him laugh.

We find them by a refreshment table. Meg is filling a plastic cup with an orange coloured soda. "Hey, guys," she says grinning. "I found Carla and James." She jerks her head to the left. Both are standing with a group of people I barely recognize, but I smile anyway.

"I think your vocal thing is starting soon," says Hayden.

I look over to see Eliza, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, pushing her way through people towards us. "It's time to get ready," she tells me. It takes us a few minutes, but we make it to the other side of the gym where the rest of the vocal class has gathered, except for Erik. Many people are wearing costumes, more than I had expected. Carlotta has the most flamboyant costume, but I couldn't expect anything less. She is dressed as a queen from the Renaissance, with a huge lace collar and skirt that sticks out five feet from where she stands.

"Is everyone ready?" asks Miss Meyer. She is answered by enthusiastic shouts. She nods to the DJ who introduces us. "Alright, it's our turn."

We all walk to the front, as the acting class had done, and try to form some semblance of organization in our appointed groups. Because Erik is not accompanying us, we are using an instrumental track on an iPod that Miss Meyer gave to the DJ.

As we sing we sway a little bit, and some people make funny actions or expressions to match their words. Plenty of students not from our class sing along, and the noise is so loud I'm sure you can hear it for miles. Of course, that has to be expected. We _are_ at a school for the performing arts. It is in our nature to try to out-do each other.

As the class takes their turns bowing or curtsying, I slip back to the DJ. He looks at me and nods. "Thank you, Miss Meyer's third period vocal class. What a great pick and an amazing job! Now, as we move onto some solo pieces, I would like to invite Christine Daaé to the stage.

I smile nervously as he hands me the microphone. My first time performing only a month ago had gone perfectly. So why am I so scared?

The first few bars of music come on, and I wait for my cue. I can't see anyone, due to the dark, and the fog is no help either. I wonder if it would be better to be able to see everyone, rather than the occasional pair of blinking eyes.

Erik and I hadn't worked on this song before, so I'm not sure if I'm doing everything perfectly right. However, no one besides him could tell if a phrase was mezzo-forte or mezzo-piano. Then again, he is the main reason I am doing this. To prove that I am not a child to be told what to do, that I am quite capable of doing things myself. How I know that he is here, I'm not even sure of, but I have the feeling he is. I knew he would be, from the day I came up with the plan. He is here to see how the vocal class is doing. And maybe, just maybe, he is here to see me.

I try not to smile as I sing the song. It does not fit the haunting melody in the least, but I feel elated at performing again, instead of being scared out of my wits, and for a fraction of a second the corners up my lips turn up slightly. Maybe I can do this. I can perform.

The song is done before it feels like it's even begun, and I let myself grin wildly as people cheer. Was I that good? Or are they doing it out of obligation? I shake my head at my ridiculous questions. I feel good about it, and that's all that matters.

As I step down from the stage, Sarah, Carla, and Meg run over to me.

"That was so good!" says Sarah, grinning from ear to ear. "What's it called?"

"Allein, Weh ganz allein," I say.

"What does that mean?" asks Meg.

"I have no idea," I say with a laugh. "I only know what it's about."

"It was still amazing!" she exclaims.

"That was great, even though I have no idea what you were saying," says Jake.

"Thanks," I say.

"You were way better than Carlotta ever could be," says James.

"Thanks," I say again. "Where is Carlotta?"

"Somewhere around here, probably," says Carla.

"With that dress of hers she probably got stuck in a doorway," says Raoul. I laugh and he pulls me into a hug. "That was beautiful, Little Lotte. Even better than the first time."

"Thank you," I say, blushing. I feel a bit dazed from the whole thing. I sneak a look over Raoul's shoulder. What if Erik isn't actually here and I did this for nothing? It's not for nothing, I scold myself. Now you know you really can perform without being scared, and without Erik.

"I'm going to go get a drink. Do you want one?" asks Raoul.

"No thank you," I say with a smile. "I'm a little out of breath at the moment. I think I'm going to step outside."

Raoul laughs. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

I make my way towards the open door, stopping every so often to be congratulated. Feeling flustered and embarrassed, yet also extremely happy, I thank everyone. Finally, I step out into the night.

The fog drifting out has made everything look eerie, like I'm in the middle of a horror story. I glance down at my costume. Yes, an angel in a horror story. That is an interesting twist, Christine. Deciding I've had enough fresh air and that my friends might be looking for me, I go back inside. A slow song comes on, and it is harder to look for my friends as people pair up around me. I am walking around the edge of the room when someone reaches out and stops me.

I look up into a skeleton's face.

I jump back in surprise with a small gasp. I recognize the costume instantly, thanks to my love of literature and poetry. The person is dressed as the Red Death, with a flowing red cape and fake sword at his side. I am awed by the detailed costume and can't help looking up at the mask. The realistic look of it is shocking at first, but swiftly I find myself looking at his eyes. His glowing, green eyes.

Before I can ask a question, the answer of which I already know, the Red Death extends his hand and says, "May I have this dance?"

I smile and take his hand. "Of course."

**What do you think? Tell me in a review! :) And also, we're at 100 reviews! Woo!  
**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

**A/N: So...I think I need to stop promising things when I don't follow through :( I'm sorry it's so late again, and I'm sorry for always having to say sorry. As I am currently getting the bad news out of the way, I have to mention that my beta phantomsmelody1871 can no longer beta this story, as she has become very busy. I wish all the best for her, and she will be missed! On a brighter note, Everyonedeserveslove has agreed to become my beta and I am so thankful to her! She has definitely helped me improve this chapter for all of you! It will be hard to get another chapter out with EQAO, summatives, and exams quickly approaching, but summer is almost here and I will finally be able to write some more! Anyway, onto the story! :)**

I feel like we are the only people in the room as he leads me to an empty spot in the middle of the floor. He takes my right hand in his, and, tentatively, puts his other hand on my waist, drawing me nearer. I place my hand on his shoulder and let him lead. I can't help the smile that comes to my face as our eyes meet. This is another side of him completely. So confident, so sure of himself. In most guys, confidence is equal to arrogance, but with him it is attractive and alluring. I wish he would feel confident on a daily basis. It seems that only behind a mask, in a costume, when no one knows who he is, that he can be confident.

"Angels should not look so sad," says the Red Death softly. "What is the matter, my dear?"

I shake my head, unwilling to share my thoughts. Instead, I give him a small smile. "If I hadn't known who you were before, you just gave it away."

"I do not know what you are talking about," he says. The skull mask grins sinisterly, but beneath it is a trace of a genuine smile.

"Fine. If you want to play that way, I must say, _Monsieur_, you are a fine dancer."

"I never realized you were French, _ma belle_," he chuckles.

"If you get to play pretend, so do I. Now, I didn't know you were so graceful on your feet. I, myself, am rather clumsy."

"I have had the privilege of finding that out," he says.

I grimace. "I am trying to be polite. Your costume is wonderful. The Red Death suits you quite well, you know."

"I am unsure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment."

"It is a compliment," I say, laughing. "You are intimidating, and your costume matches."

"I did not realize I was intimidating."

I supress an un-lady like snort. "Please. You thrive in intimidating others. I mean, I bet half the students in our music class strive to impress you."

"I highly doubt that, _ma fleur_," he says. After a moment's pause, he asks, "Do you try to impress me?"

I blush brightly while trying to think of a good answer. I find none, so I decide to answer honestly. "Yes."

"How often?"

I look down at my feet. Our toes are almost touching.

"My dear, just because you pretend you are not here, does not mean I cannot see you."

I meet his bright green eyes. "All the time."

"Why?"

"Erik," I say, feeling embarrassed. "Please, I-"

"No, I thought we were pretending?" he says, forcing a joking lilt in his voice. Without seeing his face, I can tell his expression has become serious. "Why?" he asks, much gentler. "Please?"

I look away. "I…I don't know."

He sighs and I feel sorry, as though I had lied. We dance in silence, hardly noticing as one slow song fades in to the next.

"What did you think of the performers?" he asks finally.

"They were good. Really good. I liked how everyone joined along in our song."

"I agree, though some people who were trying to out-do each other in your song really shouldn't have tried."

"That reminds me of a joke Meg told me a few years ago," I say. "It's really dorky, actually, but we thought it was hilarious at the time."

"What is it?" he asks.

"You're going to think it's silly."

"Probably. What is it?"

"How many divas does it take to change a light bulb? Five. One to change it, and four others to say, 'I could do it better.'"

He chuckles, I assume, for the sake of my pride, and not because he thinks it is funny.

"I know, we are great comedians. I'm surprised we don't have our own show!"

"That girl… with her own show…" says Erik, with a small shake of his head, and I giggle. I can see Meg hosting one of those interview shows, like the ones where they invite celebrities on so that they can interrogate and embarrass them.

We fall back in to silence, and I feel almost dejected. Why isn't he mentioning it? Why won't he admit he actually came to something that celebrated Halloween? Oh that's right, we're pretending.

I realize that I will have to be the one to bring it up.

"Erik, I-"

"Christine-"

"You go first,"

"No you, dear."

"Erik, why are you here? And please, no more, 'pretending'."

"I have come to see you, of course," he says.

I didn't expect him to be so blunt. "Oh."

"Why else would I be here?" he asks, as if it is the most ridiculous question in the world.

"Well, I…um, well…"

"Exactly. I came to hear you, as well. However, I did not expect that encore."

I wait for him to continue. When he doesn't, I say, "And?"

"It was beautiful, Angel. I wish you had practiced it with me before today, but it was amazing nonetheless."

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding in. "Oh, thank you. I was worried I didn't get that second verse right."

"No, it was perfect."

I feel giddy with happiness at his compliments, but notice he sounds almost…disappointed? He doesn't wish I had failed, does he?

Of course he doesn't. He has no reason to want me to fail.

"Now that you're here," I say. "Is it really that bad? I mean, look at everything. It's wonderful!"

"I will admit, it is sufferable."

I laugh, feeling care-free. I feel myself being drawn nearer to him, and we are already so close. I half expect him to step away, but instead he lets me, drawing me closer so that our chests are almost touching.

I have to look up at him to meet his eyes. The top of my head barely reaches beneath his chin. I want to be closer, but something in the back of my head tells me to stay where I am.

"Christine," Erik murmurs so softly that I barely hear him. His hand comes up from my waist to my neck. He brushes back a strand of my hair, and my eyes flutter closed. I swear I can still feel his hand where it touches my neck, even when he is gone...

Wait...

When he is gone?

My eyes open, and I look around. Where did he go? A hand brushes my arm from behind, and for a moment I think it is Erik. But I realize it can't be because I did not feel that tingly sensation when he does touch me.

"Raoul?" I ask, trying to hide my disappointment. Wait, disappointment? What is wrong with me?

"Who else?" he jokes, and I force a laugh. "I thought I lost you for a few minutes. I thought you might be outside, but I checked and you weren't there." He looks around me, and I realize, to him, I am standing randomly amidst the dancers.

"I was just talking to some girls from my class," I lie.

"Oh. Well, you were amazing."

"Thank you," I say. I am a deceitful, horrible person, I think to myself.

The slow song finally changes to a popular one with a fast beat. "Dance?" Raoul mouths, as any sound he could have made would be drowned out by the music paired with the people singing along.

"I can't dance!" I shout back, in my futile attempt to be heard.

"C'mon," he mouths with a smile. I would have tried to explain that only with instruction I can dance, but it's too much to shout over the music.

"Fine," I mouth. He better not expect me to not step on his feet.

After an hour of dancing with Raoul, Meg, Hayden, Sarah, and any other friends that happen to pass by, I begin to feel very tired. I look for Erik the entire time, but I don't see him. I find myself wishing to dance with him again, feeling guilty when Raoul takes my hand or smiles at me.

My mind begins to race, and I just think, what would have happened between Erik and me when we were dancing if Raoul had not shown up? If he was any other guy I would almost think he was about to kiss me. But he is Erik, and he wouldn't do that. Would he? We're friends again no matter how many times we argue, although sometimes I find myself wishing for something more, and once again I know I can share anything with him, but this? Could he possibly feel the same way?

"What's wrong?" asks Raoul, seeing my frown, and he tugs me close so he can be heard. As we are slow dancing quite closely already, he is pressing me against him a bit uncomfortably.

"Nothing," I say with an overly bright tone.

"Okay," he says with a shrug. "Isn't this dance great?"

"It is," I agree. Did Erik leave already? Or is he watching from somewhere, like a ghost?

"Do you know what would make it better?" he asks.

"Hmm?" I say, not really listening to him. I look over his shoulder, hoping that I could find Erik somewhere. His costume should make him stand out; he is the Red Death after all!

Suddenly, Raoul is leaning towards me, too close for comfort. I don't understand what he is trying to do until I feel his breath on my face and his lips almost brush mine.

"Raoul!" I say, pulling away abruptly.

He falls forward, his eyes opening in shock. He catches himself before he falls and looks at me in bewilderment. "Christine!"

"You were going to kiss me," I accuse, hugging my arms to my body as if they were my protection.

"Yes," he says. "Chris, we've been going out for a month, and I've waited. What more do you want? More time? I thought you cared about me."

"I do," I say, faltering, being caught in a rough position. "I do care about you." It's all I can say when I feel so confused

"Then why won't you kiss me?" he asks. "I'm not asking you to do anything wrong. It's just a kiss."

He's right, of course. It is only a kiss. But he's not right about it not being wrong. Every time it seems like he's going to kiss me, or when I think about it, it feels wrong. And that's strange, because I do care about Raoul. I really do. Just maybe not in the way he wants.

"Because, because…" I try to think of an excuse, because the truth is nowhere to be found. My thoughts are muddled and I can't think straight.

Raoul's face goes dark. "There's someone else, isn't there."

"What?" I ask numbly.

"There's someone else."

"No, of course not," I protest, but even to my own ears, it sounds pathetic.

"Who is it? Is it Jake? You guys get along really well."

"No," I say, through the blood pounding in my ears. "Jake's my friend."

"Well, who is it then?" he says, looking angry. Comprehension dawns on him. "Is it that piano guy? The freak with the mask?" He must have found the answer written on my face. "It is! Wait, your vocal teacher. It's him, too!"

"Raoul," I say, not knowing where I was going with it, but feeling the need to say something, to explain.

"No, wait. How many times have you lied to me about him? Did he make you do this?"

"No, never Raoul." My throat is thick with unshed tears.

"So all those times when I thought you were learning music, you were with him?" His face is a mask of disgust and I know what he is thinking.

"Raoul, it's not like that. I was learning-"

"I'll bet you were," he scoffs. Then his face goes soft, and he looks tired, younger. "Why, Chris?"

"Why what?" I manage to ask.

He shakes his head. "Was I not enough? You had to go to another guy, a freak. What did I do?"

"Raoul, I care about you. I really do," I plead. Why is he doing this?

"Maybe. But you care about him more."

"Raoul…" It's all I can say.

"Just think about it, Lotte," he says, starting to back away from me. "It's me or the monster. I don't know what he's done to you, but really think about it. You can come back to me and pretend like he never existed.

"Raoul, don't." My voice is pained, but there is hidden anger. How dare he call Erik a monster!

"I'll wait, Little Lotte. But I don't promise I won't come after you, or that I won't hate him. I'll wait until you're in the right state of mind, unless he's completely brainwashed you. Remember, it's not too late to save yourself."

I watch him as he walks away.

"Me or the monster, Lotte."

I stand there, hardly able to think as people dance around me. Eventually the song changes to an upbeat pop, and Meg comes up behind me.

"Where's Raoul?"

"He left," I say, my voice steady and emotionless.

"What do you mean he left?" she says.

I shrug. "Maybe he's still here."

"Well, what happened?"

Sarah comes up to me, also looking confused. "What's going on?" she asks softly.

"Raoul left," Meg fills her in then turns to me. "So, are you going to tell us why?"

"He tried to kiss me."

"But that's a good thing!" says Sarah. "Isn't it?"

"Christine, did you panic?" says Meg. "I'm sure he'll understand if you explain-"

"I didn't want to kiss him," I say flatly.

"But…why?"

"I don't know," I lie. "If it's alright with you guys, I'm going to go back to my room."

"Are you sure?" asks Meg.

"Yeah."

"We can stay with you," Sarah offers.

"No really, you guys stay here and enjoy the dance. I never liked them too much anyway."

"O-okay," says Meg uncertainly.

I don't waste anytime pushing through the dancers and out the doors. Because of the ever increasing cold, only a few sweaty dancers cool off outside, paying no attention to me as I hurry across the dark yard.

A month ago, I was outside during a dance after Erik interfered. He seems to have a habit of doing that. What if I had never went to that dance?

I freeze. What if I hadn't let Meg drag me out? What if I never had sung? Would I still have met Erik? I suppose I would have met him through vocal class, but would it be the same? Maybe I would be happily surrounded by Raoul and his friends, without a care in the world for boys in masks.

Where would that leave Erik? He was already alone all the time. If I had never met Erik…

It feels so painful to think about. I knew nothing about him, and yet, he was already so dear to me. Right now he is probably alone, wrapped up with his music.

My trek across the grass to my room changes and I head towards the practice rooms instead. When I get there, though, no door is open and I can't hear any music. The lack of other people around is unnerving and I hurry out.

Where else would he be? Imagining Erik outside of the practice rooms or anywhere not involving music is hard to think of, but he has to be staying somewhere on campus. This means he has to be in the boys' dorm.

The idea of Erik living in a dorm amongst the other boys is very hard to get a grasp on. Does he have a roommate? The logic that he lives in a room with a roommate in the same dorm as Raoul is a bit of a shock, honestly, not because I think he is inhuman, but he always seems so…above everyone. Of course, now I feel ridiculous.

I stop walking when I am halfway to the boys' dorm. What am I doing? Erik probably doesn't want to see me at this time. Do I want to see him? I don't know what was going to happen right before he disappeared. And what if I run into Raoul? He definitely does not want to see me right now. I need to talk to him, but I'll do that at a different time.

Remembering Raoul's rejection of me comes back like a slap, almost leaving a physical stinging sensation. How could he do that to me? Even if he was unsure about my relationship with Erik, after our long years of friendship and the past two months he should be able to trust me.

Before I let the hurt and anger overwhelm me, I go back to my room as I had originally planned so that in my over-emotional state I don't do something I'll later regret.

Inside, the dorm is empty and feels large and dark, although the lights are still on and pillows and magazines crowd the main room. My feet thump up the stairs, the sound adding to the hollow feeling of the building and of myself. I went subconsciously through my nightly routine, trying not to think of the pain and betrayal on Raoul's face.

Sometime during the night Carlotta enters. Surprisingly quiet, she does all she needs to and flicks off the pink lamp beside her bed with a sad sigh. There is a sound of muffled weeping, but I am half asleep and lost in my own whirlwind of emotions. Eventually, sleep comes to both of us.

I wake up the next morning with a start of alarm when I realize Carlotta's bed is empty. Surely, that must mean I'm incredibly late. However, a glance at the clock and out the window for confirmation, I've woken up earlier than I normally would. Remembering the weeping sound from last night, I briefly wonder about what happened, before realizing she had probably just broken a nail.

I change slowly, not really caring about what I am going to wear. I will look like a tired, swollen mess, no matter how fashionable my clothes are, or how much makeup I put on to disguise it. In defeat, I head towards the door. On the dresser there is a small note. In Meg's neat printing, it reads,

_Hey Chris,_

_Sarah and I felt bad about letting you come back to your room alone, so we came down to find you, but you were already asleep, or at least that's what it looked like. Sarah said we shouldn't bother you, so we just left this note. Don't feel bad about what happened at the dance. I'm sure you and Raoul will work it out. Carla, Tobias, James, Jake, and everyone all hope you feel better. We only told them that you weren't feeling well. Hope you don't mind._

_Love, Meg and Sarah_

_P.S. If you don't feel like coming to school, Maman will verify that you're sick and should_ _have a day of rest, if you need it._

With a small smile I fold the note into a little square. If they visited me, I must have been so out of it that I didn't notice, or Carlotta had come back early. But that couldn't be. She always stayed out until the latest she possible could.

I think about the offer at the bottom. If I don't want to go to face anyone, mainly Raoul, I have a way out. I give a resigned sigh. But there isn't any point. I have to face Raoul and explain-I want to-and I need to stay ahead in my studies. Besides, if I don't go, Erik will come to me directly to find out what happened, and who knows what he will do.

Strangely, I finish my morning routine early even with my sluggish movements. I step outside into the cold where other students, some recognizable and some not, play with a football, seeming able to ignore the cold, or huddle in small groups.

I trudge along the frosted grass. The snow had melted last night, but it would be back again soon enough. My shoes don't keep the frost out well, but the cold has numbed them to a point where I don't notice. For the first time in the past month, I haven't spent a lot of time getting dressed. Maybe that is what cut my morning routine. Like I had every day since I could remember before my first date with Raoul, I had just thrown on whatever my eyes had seen first, turning out to be a faded pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. I left my curly hair untouched by hairspray, which meant it practically engulfs my head in a frizzy ball, but I can't bring myself to care. At least I hadn't put on sweat pants to go along with my makeup-less state. I would have looked completely desperate. Then again, maybe I still do.

Someone shakes my shoulder, and I turn to face a sympathetic looking Meg and Sarah. Both have rosy cheeks and noses, and they are wrapped up in warm fleece jackets and mitts.

"Here," says Meg, passing me a hot thermos.

I give it a questioning look.

"It's hot chocolate," she explains. "I was hoping you would show up. My first choice would have been a coffee, but you know how Maman feels about caffeine." She rolls her eyes.

"How do you feel?" asks Sarah.

"Fine," I answer, and they exchange a look.

"Chris, do you like Raoul?" asks Meg bluntly.

Her question surprises me for a moment, but then I answer "Yes, of course." It is the truth, just how much I like him, however, is what I am unsure of.

"Then you need to talk to him."

"I will," I say.

"When?"

"At lunch, I guess," I say.

"How about now?" suggests Sarah. "You want to get it over with."

"No, not now," I say. "Maybe I'll wait a day or two." Meg looks like she is going to argue, so I explain. "I want him to cool off first, or things will just get worse."

"I guess," she agrees grudgingly. "Are you sure you don't want to clear it up as soon as possible?"

"No, I think we need a break for a little while, just a breather." Really, I just need time to think about what to say, to figure out how I feel. I need time. And that sentence never means anything good.

"Okay," says Sarah. "Let's go inside, then. It's freezing out here!"

"My hair's going to be so frizzy," I sigh, only now realizing it.

"I would offer to do something with it, but…" Meg trails off.

"But you would need hairspray, a curling iron, and several other things we don't have, I know," I say. "It's my own fault. I couldn't be bothered. How did I always go around with my hair like this?"

"I think it's kind of cute," offers Sarah.

"Thanks," I laugh. My hair is anything but cute, though I appreciate her attempt at comforting me.

When the bell rings, I reluctantly go to class, not feeling up to it in the least. Once again, I consider Madame Giry's offer, but end up going anyway. I know I'll be feeling like taking it up for the rest of the day, and try to convince myself that, yes, I do want to go to class.

My mood does not get any better during my morning. First, Erik completely ignores me. I was hoping for at least brief eye contact as I pass by. Sometimes when he's in a good spirits, so not often, he will do his ventriloquist act to amuse me, or just to talk with me, but he won't tell me how he does it.

Then, Mr. William calls on me three times, two of which I am not paying attention, and each time I don't know the answer. I had hoped Erik would help me, but he is still ignoring me. Mr. William calls on no one else during class, probably only choosing me for amusement and to embarrass me in front of everyone.

By the time lunch rolls around, I feel like I will punch anyone who dares to confront me. Meg is looking at me both amused and bewildered as I barrel towards her, Hayden, and Sarah through a group of grade nine students.

"Be nice to the younger children," Meg teases, ignoring the scathing look I give her. "In the eleventh grade we have to be role models for the tykes." Said students give her a dirty look and she shrugs with an indifferent smile on her face.

"Someone hasn't had a very good day," observes Hayden.

I glare at him. "What are you talking about? I feel like sunshine, rainbows, and all that jazz."

"All that jazz?" says Meg. "Oh my God, it's worse than I thought."

"Maybe it's a good thing you're not going to talk to Raoul today after all," says Sarah. I fully agree.

"Won't we see him in the cafeteria?" asks Hayden.

"I don't feel hungry," I say, walking away. "This way I won't have to face him and I won't be late for class. Two birds with one stone."

"Chris? Where are you going?" calls Meg.

"Class. An hour early."

"Have fun," she shouts, and I roll my eyes. I pick up my books for vocal class and stalk off to the vocal room. A few feet from the door I slow down. What if Erik is in there? I'm not sure why he's mad at me, but being around him when he is in a mood is never something I like to do. And I am not feeling up to a confrontation as it is.

I open the door and peek my head inside. It's empty.

Relieved, I go into the room and put my stuff by my seat. There is a strange sense of home when I look around the empty room. It feels like being with an old friend. Before this year, sometimes Meg would be busy with dance during lunch and, being the loner I was, I came to the vocal class alone to practice or look through the music. The latter is what I am going to do now.

I head over to the shelves overflowing with vocal music and the accompanying parts. There are choral pieces, solos, duets, female, male, group, soprano, alto, tenor, bass-a plethora of music and I try to search for the soprano and mezzo-soprano pieces. Opera and musical theatre are my main interests, but I also set aside some nice sounding pop songs.

My little pile of music sheets grow beside me and I forget my surroundings as I hum the pieces to myself. Seeing a rather nice tenor piece, I wonder if Erik could bring up the key of it to something in my range.

Could? Of course he can, I chide myself.

The door swings shut with a click and the vocal room comes to the forefront of my mind. Luckily, it is not the masked man I have been thinking about that has entered the room. He is probably still avoiding me.

Miss Meyer gives me a bright smile as she walks to her desk. "I haven't seen you in here during lunch in quite some time."

I give her a small smile in return. "I've been running low on music."

"Well, you're free to copy the music. You know the rules, so I don't need to tell you again."

"Thank you," I say, lifting up my rather large pile of music and lugging it over to the photocopier. I notice something as I copy the pages, setting the originals in one pile and the copies in another. Not all of the music I chose was for me. Sure, I can pretend I had gotten the bass and tenor parts because I know I can change the key, but my voice wasn't the one I had heard while humming the music.

Why would I choose vocal music for Erik? He would likely turn it down if I tried to give them to him. And I doubt he would use it anyway. He would prefer to create his own music or get it himself. I hadn't even realized I was thinking about him.

This thought is the most troubling of all. Subconsciously I had been thinking of Erik. Does he think about me, too? I immediately push the thought away. Why would someone like him be thinking of me? Although, at the dance I could have sworn he was going to kiss me.

The photocopier beeps to let me know it is finally done copying. I resist the urge to press my face against the warm sheets of paper-something Meg and I had always done-and take the originals back over to the shelf. I am lucky that Miss Meyer is so organized or it would take me ages to find the spots the music goes back in. I look under the genre, then the voice type, and then alphabetically by composer. I think all of this is a bit too extreme, but it only takes me five minutes to put away more than twenty selections of sheet music.

I walk back over to where my large stack of music is and only now realize that I have to carry it all back with me to my room. When I pass Miss Meyer's desk, I hear her girlish chuckle.

"What are you doing there, Christine? Getting music for the whole school?"

"No, just some personal practise."

"I see. Don't strain yourself."

"I won't," I say, trying to open the door with my pinkie and ring finger.I've almost got it when the door suddenly swings open and sends me, and all the music, crashing to the floor.

"Hey!" I cry out.

However, my heart starts to flutter, whether out of panic or something else, when I hear a dark mutter. "What idiotic person stands in front of a door-Christine?"

"Present," I say, raising my hand and brushing off the music around me.

He gives me demeaning look from where he stands above me. When he makes no move to help me or say anything, I feel a swell of irritation and clamber onto my knees to scoop up the music.

"Well, you can just stand there and watch me. Or, you can help the person you just hit with a door."

His dagger look continues. "It's not my fault you were daft enough to stand in front of the door."

"Do you not see all this music?" I ask, gesturing around, trying to hide the fact that his comment hurt me. "It was five feet tall. Excuse me if I had a bit of trouble opening the door. I am not currently in possession of a third arm."

Erik continues to look at me like I am the world's biggest idiot as he bends down to help me pick up the music. It's like a scavenger hunt finding what pieces of music go with which, and I am really starting to regret my music copying spree.

"Christine, what do you have two basses and a tenor part for?" he asks, his brow raised quizzically.

I take the sheets of music from him quickly. "I was hoping you could change them, maybe, to something in my register? They're quite pretty."

"If you wish," he says, not looking like he believes me for a second. How is he able to read me so easily? I wouldn't put it past him to know things about me that I don't know myself.

Together, we get the rest of the compositions in order. We don't talk, but I glance at him every so often, wishing I could know what he is thinking. When his eyes turn up to meet mine, I look away, my face growing hot. And what is with my clammy hands all of a sudden? As he hands me the music his gloved hand brushes mine and I suppress a shiver.

It reminds me of the days before Raoul and I started dating, when I had first met Erik. But then he became cold and distant. Why, I never seem to know. I am almost sure he must be bipolar by the way he behaves sometimes. Friendly and kind at one point, than cold and indifferent the next.

"What are you thinking of?" he asks me as I get to my feet. His voice is unconcerned, but I think I spy a flash of something in his eyes.

"The way we were. In the first few days I met you." We had never spoken about any of those times. Actually, Erik is extremely talented at avoiding talking about every encounter we've had.

I don't think he expected this answer, for he is quiet for a few minutes. Then, "I don't know what you are talking about."

This almost brings tears to my eyes, even though I know he is lying. "I know that's not true. And I just want you to know…I miss it."

Then I walk out the door.

**A/N: What did you think? Why has Erik been acting so cold? What did you think should have happened at the dance? Is Raoul or Christine to blame for how things are going between them? **

**Thank you for reading! :)**


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